


Beyond the Sea

by PoisonJack



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Blowjobs, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/M, General au, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Tension, Survivor Guilt, Update tags as I go, Vaginal Fingering, a whole lot of feels, alcohol use, fallout-typical psuedo medical science haha, its a party in the wasteland come on now, nervous breakdown, polyamory incoming, post Institute-splosion haha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-06-07 13:59:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 68,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15220688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonJack/pseuds/PoisonJack
Summary: The Institute is reduced to rubble, and with it everything tying our sole survivor to her past and present. The future looks bleak in her eyes, so she up and leaves behind everyone. Cue Deacon and Mac on her tail to bring her back.Just some pity-party angst, romantic tension, eventual smut, and all that good polyamory shit. Honestly this is just an excuse for delicious smut and whump oh ho!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write too often for fallout since the fandom seems more or less dead (or just the worst when it comes to actually leaving comments, which is very discouraging) but here's a thing. Marked as complete unless ya'll want more, in which case, _convince me_ (:

“Hey savior, whaddya got going here?”

Nora was on her back lying in the irradiated grass by the river, Sanctuary’s warm glow and the muted music of partying floating to her on the light breeze. A bottle was in her hand, another at her side, and she was craning her head backwards to look at Deacon as he stood there with those damn sunglasses on. Sundown had been hours ago. It made her snort.

“Celebrating. Isn’t that what we’re all doing?”

The smile on her face was far too wide to be sincere, a sort of manic gleam to her eyes that he suspected the jet canisters next to her had something to do with. 

“Party’s over there, last I checked.” He was looking down at the litter surrounding her; empty chems and bottles. No one else keeping her company. He toed one lazily. “This seems more like an intervention.”

“Well no one invited you, so mind your own business,” she snapped. A look of hurt crossed his face, gone as soon as it had appeared. She felt ashamed, though it had been her intent to cause hurt. She took another drink from the bottle instead of dealing with it.

Deacon ignored her statement, not moving to leave, but not sitting to join her, either. “Kind of defeats the purpose of a party, sitting here alone. You _should_ be at the forefront.”

“What do you care?” she asked with exasperation. She pulled herself up on her elbows before sitting up proper, reaching for one of the jet inhalers only to find it empty. She tossed it over the stone wall and into the river with a plunk, speaking to the litter surrounding her and not looking up at his face. “Everyone got what they wanted. Commonwealth boogeyman is gone, synths liberated, settlements safe, everything back to peachy-fucking-keen.” She reached for her bottle, but he moved to toe it out of her reach. She shot a livid look up at him.

“Nora…”

Her tone was incredulous, surprised that he was actually trying to stop her from drowning her worries. This celebration was brought to them all by _her_ , and if she wanted her own party to be of the pity variety, then goddammit but she was going to. “The fuck is your problem? _What_?”

Deacon was gazing down at her with deep focus. Not that one could see his eyes with the sunglasses on, but she'd come to recognize his tells. The pursing at his lips alone showed how much her pity party affected him, but she couldn't for the life of her even humor the man. She just didn't have the will or the energy to pretend anymore. Taking down the Institute had been the last straw.

“...This isn't like you, boss.”

She snorted. “I think it's pretty like me. It's what I do.” She smirked up at him, but there was no humor in her eyes. “I gun down the people that _other_ people need more dead than they are, all in the name of the greater good. Doesn't this fit the bill of someone like that?” she asked with a gesture to the litter around her.

She was drunk. Drunk and high and clearly not coping so well with the massive job they'd all managed to finally pull off. Deacon wasn't sure how to fix this. Usually he'd suggest some more killing to let off the steam, joke about the crater they'd left, but clearly taking down the institute had taken more of a toll than they might've expected.

“This fits Hancock more than you.” She snorted and he actually frowned. “Come on, boss. There's still food and music and lots of people want to thank the hero of the hour.”

She smiled, but it was an ugly thing. Surely it was an ugly thing. There was nothing to smile about; this wasn't something to celebrate. Maybe to these people, but not to someone like _her_. “ _Those_ people… The ones I killed today when everything collapsed… It wasn’t a black and white matter, Dee. Not at all. They weren't _evil_. Not all of them.” She huffed and stretched her limbs in the grass. “They gave me the benefit of the doubt and I might as well have cut their throats with my own hand. Guess it’s lucky the whole damn place went up, or I'd have been at it all day!”

She was laughing-- hysterical laughs, probably sounded certifiably crazy- and she wasn’t too sure if that opinion would be wrong with the way she cackled, but it was either laugh or sob every last ounce of humanity out of it, and she wasn't ready to let that go yet. Her life was going so far south it was almost like something out of a fever dream, and try as she might she only sunk further into the nightmare. 

“Did you know I was the successor to the Institute? It’s next director after Father died?” 

Deacon actually removed his sunglasses to look at her, and being met with his gaze head-on made a swell of guilt rise at the shock she'd delivered; the backhand she’d dealt him keeping something so big to herself when they'd been so close. She wallowed in it, as if asking him to blame her. Wanting proof she was a bad person. But he just stood there gaping, shocked silent and unsure of what to even say.

“That wasn’t in my report,” she stated with a laugh, hand shaking as she found a jet canister that wasn't completely empty, and took a hit. She breathed in the sickly sweet fumes, chemical taste on her tongue, and gave him a sly look. “You guys would hunt me down for that, huh? Totally railroad me.” She snickered to herself at the joke while Deacon tried to find his voice.

“No point in that. The Institute is rubble.”

She was trying to goad him; make him show some damn unchecked emotion for once. She wished she could be half as unshakeable as Deacon always seemed, but he just looked at her with that same unreadable stare, and she only smiled somberly into his face. “Bet your friends wouldn’t think the same.” She snorted. “I bet Glory would mow me down with that minigun of hers. Just to be sure. Better safe than sorry, you know?” She laughed. “Hell, it's what we _do_.”

Deacon didn't know where this was coming from. She'd been so confident as they'd attacked the Institute; so like _herself_. This incarnation was something he didn't recognize. She should've been _happy_ to finally take out her revenge on the people who stole her son.

But then, the Institute was rubble, and here she was sitting _without_ a kid next to her. It was a topic he wouldn't dare broach, instead staying on about the activity of the Railroad.

“You know she wouldn’t. Not after what you’ve accomplished. Gonna be too busy anyways helping people start new lives.”

This made her break into cackling laughter, the kind that actually made Deacon uncomfortable. She was drunk, high, stoned, whatever you wanted to call it. She was fucked up, but after the toll the day had taken, that was a little more than unexpected.

Not quite to this extent, though. He never would have seen this outcome coming in a million years.

“What if I told you the whole synth _thing_ is my fault?” she tried again, watching him for some sort of reaction. “That there wouldn’t even be synths without me?”

He'd say she was _way_ too intoxicated, is what he'd say to that.

“Okay hotshot, why don’t we call it a night?” he said with finality, a hand on her shoulder as he crouched down next to her. Clearly she was out of her mind on the contraband lying about them, and things out of his expertise to comfort bothering her. They'd be able to fare better tomorrow if she slept it all off.

She gave him a grin, eyes glittering.

“You don’t believe me, _do_ you?” She snorted, gave him what was a condescending pat. The laugh she gave was half a sob, and it all came quickly pouring out as she looked away from him. “They took my baby, raised him up, used his DNA for the synths, and the rest is history.” She felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the chems and alcohol rushing in her system. “I didn’t tell you, did I, that Father was Shaun. My Shaun.” 

She gave a laugh, and the sound made Deacon sick. It had to be a joke. A really well thought-out, deeply planned joke to get back at him for all the exaggerations and lies he was always feeding her. 

The moisture in her eyes though, that clearly wasn't a joke. 

“Father was my son. Isn’t that rich?”

“Nora… Nora, babe, are you too deep into cover? Do we need to re-brainwash you from your mission-character? That's just--”

She laughed, a hand on his knee to steady herself even as she was still sitting on the grass. “God I wish this wasn't real. The only plus is that cancer took him before I blew up the Institute. Would’ve been fucked up, sent to murder my own son.” Her breathing hitched a bit, but she took a steadying breath, replaying the victory of the day in her head. “I was prepared to do it for the greater good, too. Destroy that place with him inside it. Guess I never had to take that test. It’s the little things, you know? Cheers!”

Deacon’s hand was on her shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze as he was squatted down next to her, frankly shocked for the first time in ages. “Jesus Nora…. Why didn’t you _say_ something?”

“Are you _really_ asking that?”

No, he knew why she hadn’t. There was no need for explanation. 

“Hey, come on now, since when do you look glum?” She pushed the bottle she'd managed to reach into his hand, a grin forced to her face even though her eyes still leaked. “It’s a party. Here’s to a free wasteland, yay.”

Deacon actually took a gulp from the bottle, still floored by the things he never would have even _guessed_ about. This was a lot to process. 

And he thought _his_ life was fucked up. 

She still laughed next to him, slowly stilling and wiping her cheeks on the back of her hand. She took a deep breath, trying to find her sense of calm as they remained still for several moments. “Will you do me a favor?”

“That depends on what it is,” he told her, not liking where this was going.

“I’m going to the glowing sea tomorrow. Will you tell everyone bye for me?” He was silent long enough to make her look at him, a frown on her face. “Jesus Deacon, since when do you have nothing to say?”

There was plenty he wanted to say. Things he wanted to ask, wanted to let her know, wanted to explain and drop all the bullshit and just _tell_ her, but only one word could manage to slip out: “Why?”

“It's where I want to be,” she said simply with a steadying breath. “No one out there will try to use me as a tool to get what they want. It's all done.”

“There _is_ no one out there. Just shit that wants to kill you, Nora.”

She snorted. “Exactly. Everything just wants to kill you. It doesn’t want to manipulate you, or make you question your morals, or your sanity, or kill your adult son who’s decades older than you and the leader of a cult…” She laughed humorlessly. “Just kill or be killed. That’s easy compared to life out here.” She tossed the empty bottle of liquor to hear it shatter somewhere against the river rocks. She didn't turn her attention back to him. “I'm done, Dee.”

Deacon didn't have anything to say to that; couldn't _think_ of anything to say to that. This was… something he lacked both the skills and expertise to fix. 

Didn't mean he couldn't try, though.

“Look, let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay? It's been a big day. I'll even make you a mirelurk omelette for the hangover I know you're going to have. How about that?”

She snorted, still looking out across the river somewhere. “You can't cook, Deacon, and we both know it.”

“I'll have Mac help,” he said as he gave her a pat, trying to defuse whatever her mind was doing as she was already cutting him off. Something inside him wanted to panic at that, but he simply stood up and looked about as if he could find an answer that might restore her. “Now come on, let's put you to bed, boss. It'll be that much closer to breakfast. And you know MacCready makes a mean tato hash.”

“It's a good idea,” she said ignoring his statements, and talking about her own. 

He frowned at her and put his sunglasses back on. He was lost, and no amount of character play or old assignments would steer him on what the hell to _do_. “It's nuts, and that's coming from _me_. Let's get some sleep and I'll help figure this out tomorrow, okay? Everything will make more sense after we've had time to process, as Des says.”

She snorted dismissively, but still took his hand when he offered it up, and went clumsily along with him, intermittently cackling when it became too much for her.

Their friends and residents of Sanctuary merely counted it off as more drunken revelry: the General was smashed, and no one deserved it more than her. All good times being had, _not_ a woman gone halfway to pieces.

“Where are you _two_ going?” Hancock leered with a smirk as Deacon steered her back towards her house. He was rolling a cigarette in his hands, a playful look on his face attributed to the canisters and bottles surrounding him and the Longs as they sat together near a fire. Someone was laughing and hollering while others chatted around the cooking pot.

“Private party,” Deacon offered with a grin that he didn’t feel at all, nodding as the Mayor of Goodneighbor laughed before finishing up his cigarette and passing it to Marcy as the night wore on.

\--

“Deacon, you'll tell everyone bye for me, right?” Nora slurred as she sat on her bed and held a foot out for the man to remove her boot. “I'm not comin’ back… and you have a prettier way with words.”

“Just stop with that. You’re not going to abandon us and we all know it. Army’s gotta have a General.” He slipped the boot off with a playful smirk that he didn't feel. 

“Give me one good reason why I should stay.”

He offered her a smartass grin while he removed her other boot, glad the dark of the night partially hid his expression. Words he wanted to say stayed locked up inside him, and words he didn't really feel came out instead. “Preston will fall apart if he can't serve under your leadership anymore. No one hoofs it around the ‘wealth like you do.”

She didn't laugh like he'd hoped, but instead looked further resolute; without hope or optimism for the future. He sighed and patted her thigh.

“Look, just get some sleep. Forget about the Glowing Sea. Today’s been…. Well, it’s been the literal definition of a clusterfuck, we’re all a little messed up about things. Just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here.”

She laid down and turned away from him where he'd stood up, a frown on her face and wishing she was drunker than she felt. It wasn't quite enough to numb everything. “Pfft, yeah right. Haven’t you got some place to slink off to and pretend to be someone you’re not?”

MacCready’s own mean-spirited jibe dusted off to harm. Even the sniper didn't say that to him anymore. He tried not to let that get to him. She wasn't herself. “No place special. Get some rest, boss.”

She didn't say anything else to him as he sat on the old couch in the room, and her breathing quickly evened out to what he hoped was _restful_ , healing sleep.

He contemplated her for some time as he sat there, sleep eluding himself as worries ate at him and the partying outside began to finally die down. 

Her words, the way she was personally invested in things... _Depressed_ didn't seem to come close. And god, the things she'd been keeping to herself. Des would probably _flip_ if she knew Nora was supposed to inherit the Institute. Probably wouldn't _do_ anything-- she _had_ been the one to destroy it, after all- but they'd keep close tabs on her to make sure such an organization never came to power again.

 _If_ they knew. But he wasn't going to be the one to share that information. More to file away.

He stayed awake unwillingly with his thoughts until exhaustion finally took over, no closer to a solution than when he'd found her alone by the river.

He hoped he was right and that the light of day _would_ help things be clearer tomorrow. Of course, Deacon didn't instill much confidence in hope itself, and the next morning he wasn't disappointed by his low expectations.

\--

MacCready was rudely awakened by a boot to his shoulder, the man snorting in surprise from sleep as he jumped up only to see Deacon looking down at him impatiently.

“Hurry up and come with me.”

“What the _hell_ , man,” Mac said in sleepy aggravation, too addled to even realize he’d cursed at the other man. He swallowed heavily as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, shoulders stiff from falling asleep on a mat on the floor instead of the bed literally two feet from his position. “What’s your problem?”

Deacon was shoving the merc’s stuff into his pack next to him as Mac woke a bit more, starting to argue over what was being done with his belongings and grabbing at the spy to make him stop.

“Get dressed and let’s go,” Deacon said as he shouldered the other man’s pack. Mac was sitting there confused and agitated and about _this_ close to shooting the other man in the foot. 

“Go _where_? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yeah, it’ll be dawn soon, so hurry up.”

“Hurry up _where_ , you assh-- you jerk.”

Deacon gave him an impatient look from under his sunglasses, stopping in his movements. “Nora’s gone.” 

Mac frowned, getting up and pulling on his longcoat before starting on his boots “Gone where?”

“I don’t know.”

The lack of smartass comment or quip got Mac’s attention, and he picked up his rifle and retook his pack, slinging it over his shoulder as he followed Deacon outside towards the border of Sanctuary. “Think someone took her? Revenge for blowing up the Institute?”

That was what Deacon had thought at first. There were surely people topside that they’d missed. Remnants out for vengeance. Coursers with enough patience not to alert the whole settlement. Deacon knew the feeling all too well. But he also remembered that look in her eyes the night before. She might've been higher than Hancock on Christmas Day, but it hadn't stopped her escaping his detection and leaving in the few hours he'd managed to sleep. “No. All her stuff is gone.”

The sigh he got was expected, but Mac didn’t put his things down just yet. “How are you sure she didn’t just step out for some fresh air? Or running an errand?” Deacon gave him a look that turned his ears red.

“Before dawn? The day after everything is blown sky high?”

Mac grumbled, alert but still sleepy. “...Fair point.”

“I thought so. Now come on.”

He immediately followed as Deacon stepped away from him, shooting glances behind himself as it as clear they were leaving Sanctuary due south. “Shouldn’t we tell the others? Or get the dog?”

“I don’t know how many hours she has on us, and I’m not sticking around for things to come to some democratic vote.” He knew what Preston would want to do, and frankly he didn’t have the patience or the mood right now to wait for plans to be formulated. There was an urgency behind this, a feeling in his gut that they needed to find her soon, or something bad was going to happen. Something irreparable. “Dogmeat is in Diamond City with Piper. We don’t have time to make a stop there.”

“...maybe she headed that way?” 

The hopeful note in his voice didn’t help soothe the anxiousness in Deacon’s gut. “I don’t think so.”

Mac sighed through his nose, following in Deacon’s footsteps as his hungover brain tried to piece things together with the slow brightening of the sky. “Why bring me?” he asked. 

“I’m good at being stealthy, _you’re_ good at tracking. 

“Fine,” Mac said, yawning as they were out of the tree line and onto the road already. Deacon was in a hurry. “Where are we heading towards?”

“The Glowing Sea.”

Mac stopped where he was, and Deacon took a few more strides before turning and leveling a glare from behind his sunglasses. It had no effect on the sniper. “The Glowing Sea? Seriously? Why in hell do you think she’d go _there_?”

“Because she said so.”

“You _just_ said you didn't know where she went!”

“The glowing sea is huge. That was accurate.”

Mac wanted to punch him, but it was still too early for that. While under other circumstances he generally liked the other man, _this_ \-- and after a night of major victory as far as the settlers were concerned- _wasn't_ what he wanted to deal with first thing in the-- well, it was more or less morning _now_.

“What, think she's gonna hunt down that Institute scientist? Virgil?” Mac asked crabbily as if he thought Deacon was an idiot. “You know she _helped_ him, right?”

Deacon sighed. “We don't have time for this. Come on.” He started walking again, leaving Mac behind and _hoping_ the younger man would follow instead of trudge back to Sanctuary-- or worse, bitch at him the entire way there.

Of course the sniper would choose the latter.

“There's nothing _in_ the Glowing Sea. She probably went to one of the nearby settlements, checking in with everyone, and we’ll drink and relax more tonight. You _know_ how she is.”

No, he wasn't quite sure he did at the moment. “She's not there. And be quiet. Or do you _want_ every feral, mutant, and raider to hear us all the way out there?”

“They're probably all _asleep_ like anyone normal,” Mac grumbled at the hour, taking back up behind the older man.

Deacon actually snorted, a smirk on his face. _Normal_. That was the last thing this was. Any of it.

“Let's just keep moving,” Deacon told him. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever…” Mac rolled his eyes and followed until he fell back in line with Deacon. Whatever the spy was keeping from him concerning the boss, he'd get it out of him eventually. Deacon might've been sneaky, conniving, and-- he begrudgingly admitted- good at his job, but Mac had one thing on his side that the spy didn't: patience regarding how annoying he could be when he wanted something.

And by the pace Deacon set and the way he kept shooting the younger man annoyed, hurried glances, Mac knew he would wear him out well before they actually found Nora, and get to the bottom of why she'd left in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was going to write more but this has been sitting back here with me long enough I figured I'd just post it like this. Technically it just ended there UNLESS ya'll wanna see more, which I can do, but I won't do it for radio-silence so to speak :) End game was deacon/nora/mac but im fine with leaving it like this.
> 
> If you enjoyed this work and **do** want more, please leave a comment :) "I NEED MORE!" well, yeah, that's nice. Thanks for less than 2 seconds of a comment for the _hours_ that went into this free content you've consumed LOL MAKE IT WORTH ME PRODUCING MORE CONTENT PLEASE.
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing by popular demand (i.e. thank you for the kind words here and on tumblr folks). I'll keep updating if you keep commenting.

“Why would she leave without saying goodbye?” Mac asked for what was probably only the third time, but felt like the millionth to Deacon.

He didn't mention that Nora had wanted _him_ to relay her goodbyes for him.

“We can ask her that when we find her.”

Mac gave him a little glare as Deacon easily brushed him off. He might not be as stealthy as the older man, or share the same tactics, but he wasn't _stupid_. He knew when someone was holding out on him. And Deacon was pursuing this with a single-mindedness that raised all red flags to the sniper. “Did she _say_ anything?”

The look on Deacon’s face-- one he probably thought was impassive- told Mac all he needed to know. The spy probably thought his poker face was impenetrable, but the sniper had come to recognize little tells here and there from studying the man. Not _many_ , but he knew when Deacon was preparing to lie at short notice. And as frankly frazzled as he was-- and indeed, where Deacon was concerned, this was positively _frazzled_ for the spy- the older man's masks were slipping. He was keeping something from him about _why_ Nora left.

“What did she say?” Mac pressed, walking side by side with the man and trying his best to be patient. “I saw her with you last night, she must've said _something_.”

Deacon stopped, pulling up short. He angled a tight look at the younger man, not wanting to stop and waste time, but knowing Mac wouldn't give up the subject until he gave him _something_. And right now, Deacon didn’t have the patience to string him along. He just wanted to gain ground on Nora as quickly as possible. “You know the Institute, and the reason she helped us take it down, right?”

“Well _yeah_ , that's kind of been your whole _angle_ ,” Mac pointed out like Deacon was a simpleton. He adjusted the heft of his rifle on his back, standing there giving Deacon an unimpressed look. “She's a bleeding heart for those in need.”

He certainly had that right. “Yeah, but I mean the _real_ reason. Not for some noble plight-of-humanity thing, but the _real_ reason she went after them.”

It took a few moments before realization alighted on Mac’s face, hitting him like a punch to the gut. He felt _horrible_ as everything suddenly became clear, his face a tumult of emotion as he needed to ask something he frankly didn't want to. “...Oh my god… Was her… What, uh…” He didn’t want to ask, but Deacon was standing there looking at him, not volunteering the information, and he had to press through. “...Did they _have_ her kid?”

“They did,” Deacon replied, his answer the truth, though he didn't clarify for the sniper. He was still trying to come to terms himself with what Nora had told him the night before. That… He was still floored. 

The younger man's face was a mix of confusion and empathy and just the worst understanding he didn't want to think about. The Institute had had her kid, and here they'd blown it up, and she was still hanging around Sanctuary... childless. It made the merc sick until he suggested an alternative; hopeful as if he’d misunderstood the implications.

“Wait, so could she be out--”

“She knows where he is. She doesn't need to go looking,” Deacon said pointedly, not revealing any sensitive information he figured should be hers to hold.

Mac took his hat off to brush a hand through his hair. His eyes got a little watery as he considered things. He didn't know what kind of state he'd be in if something happened to Duncan. He'd come close before they got the cure, but he’d thankfully never tasted the horror of losing a child, and all thanks to Nora. He didn't know _what_ she must be feeling right now, but she shouldn’t be alone at least.

MacCready wiped at his eyes as inconspicuously as he could, but Deacon didn't bring any attention to the soft tone of regretful sympathy in his voice. “I can't believe we didn't even-- No one even _thought_ of that after we-- After it was done. It's-- Its not right.” 

“Exactly,” Deacon agreed, watching as Mac still scrubbed at his eyes with his fist, but didn't comment on it. He didn't want to think too hard about it himself, honestly, or the combined weight of new and old guilt might drag him under. 

He took their path back up, feeling like quite the asshole himself, and wanting to _try_ to make things even the smallest bit right by Nora if they could. “That's why we need to find her.”

\--

They stopped in at the Abernathy’s and again at the Sunshine Tidings settlement, but no one had seen hide nor hair of the General. They were willing to answer after MacCready’s questions though, and pushed supplies on him, even if they shot Deacon suspicious looks, generally unfamiliar with the older man in the aviator shades.

It was another part of a variety of reasons Deacon had brought Mac with him. The young merc had traveled extensively with Nora, covered a fair bit of ground and talked with locals in a way that made him-- and his association with the General of the Minutemen- memorable; _trustworthy._ Like it or not, Mac’s past acquaintances saved them time they didn't have for Deacon to adopt a part and earn trust in order to wheedle out information. These settlements were some of the oldest Nora had set up under her jurisdiction. He hadn’t been there for that, and he didn’t have time to earn their trust.

So far, no one had seen her.

“She wouldn't talk to anyone if she didn't want to be followed,” Mac pointed out after they'd been picking about the road for some time now. “Especially if she wanted to get there fast.”

Deacon didn't know about _that,_ but for the most part he agreed that Nora would be avoiding people if at all possible. She'd been on her own for some time when he'd found her by the river last night. She would have no interest in making small talk if she was making her exit from the commonwealth in general. “Yeah. But there's dangerous stuff out here. She knows this area well, though; you think she'd get off path that quick?”

“It's what I’d do, if I wanted to be quick.”

It's what Deacon would have done too; avoid the road in order to avoid detection. But the woods were filled with Yao gaoi and deathclaws and ferals among other things. Avoiding _that_ on the way to the death trap that was the Glowing Sea just made sense. But if one knew these roads, which she did, it would mean she also knew hiding spots and blind spots, giving plenty of time to head off if a caravan or raiders were spotted. The road could be dangerous too, but honestly it was safer than traveling off the path, if not slower.

He supposed it depended on how eager she was to get out there. Hopefully not _super_ eager.

“We’d save time cutting through the woods, maybe head her off,” Mac suggested. “Skirt around Fort Hagen.”

“We can have a cozy campfire waiting by the time she catches up.”

Mac didn't laugh at the attempted light-heartedness, and honestly Deacon didn't feel the lame smile plastered on his face as they decided to leave the road. He just hoped they'd find her before grief or bad luck decided to play a hand in things. 

\--

They didn't save as much time as they'd hoped. They’d had to make a path choice between dealing with raiders, mutants, or ferals, but honestly hadn’t expected to deal with all _three_. Talk about a perfect clusterfuck. They were just lucky to still be in one piece.

They hoped the sheer numbers meant Nora had smartly bypassed all of this, and _not_ the alternative….

Mac was stimming a pretty bad shotgun-wound to Deacon’s torso in the aftermath, the ballistic weave of his damn t-shirt having saved him from being blown in two from the direct shot by a raider who wasn’t as lucky against Mac’s rifle. Whatever time they might have shaved off by leaving the road, they were using to rest and clean up. The Fiddler’s Green trailer estates wasn’t _exactly_ Mac’s favorite place in the world, but the few ferals they’d encountered had been easy enough to clear out, and they were in relative-safety inside one of the abandoned campers.

“It was stupid not to wear leather armor or something else over this…” Mac muttered again about Deacon’s lack of protection. The older man hissed as Mac used the stim around different areas of his side until the healing liquid had been completely injected. He waited as Deacon’s skin knit back together slowly under his fingers, the wounds not being nearly as bad as they could've been. 

It was still a lot of blood, though.

“I'll let you dress me up in whatever leather fantasy is running through your head _after_ we get back to Sanctuary in one piece _if you stop poking me there_ ,” Deacon groused as Mac was feeling about his ribs gently but firmly. Whatever jokes he might've made died in his throat as Mac fixed him up. Truthfully, it goddamn _hurt._

Mac’s fingers smeared crimson across Deacon’s healing flesh, the skin now an afterthought as he tried to triage the man’s wounds. Deacon was lucky not to have been blown in half. “I'll break this proper if you don't shut up,” the sniper responded, cheeks hot at the light teasing as he inspected the bruising that the stimpack hadn't quite dispatched. The open wounds were mostly grown back together, flesh rejecting the buckshot that embedded itself in his skin, but the impact of such a wound alone should have broken bone. He suspected a light fracture where the bruising has set in. “We should probably use another one just to be safe.”

Deacon grumbled at the intense expression on the younger man’s face. They didn’t have time for this. “Save it, things are only going to get nastier the further south we get.” Mac looked up at his words and raised a brow, but Deacon only snorted in response to such an expectant look. “I'll leave the dirty joke up to you this time, because despite my _cheery_ demeanor, that _really_ hurts.”

Mac laid his hand smooth on the bare and bruised skin before removing it, wiping blood on his pant leg and sitting back on his haunches as he frowned at the mess of Deacon’s torso in front of him. He met Deacons eyes-- or those _damn_ sunglasses- after a moment. “We should rest a while. I'm going to see if any of the armor those idiots back there had is worth salvaging. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

“My butt looks best in army fatigues,” Deacon joked as Mac got to his feet, ignoring the older man and muttering about leather while Deacon laid there thinking how stupid it was that he let that damn raider get the drop on him in the first place. 

He didn't think too long about himself though, realizing that Nora had had even _less_ sleep than him, and _after_ a serious one-woman bender at the river’s edge. He hoped she’d had the good sense to hold up somewhere safe and get a few hours rest before continuing on her mad mission south.

Regardless of how she felt right now, what she'd lost, he knew she wasn't stupid, and he didn't think she had a death wish even if her target was the Glowing Sea. 

Or at least, he _hoped_ not. It made him all the more eager to find her.

Deacon had managed to clean himself up a fair amount by the time Mac came back. There was nothing for his shirt, the blood tacky as it dried, and he wished for something to take the edge off the lingering pain, but it wasn't anything he couldn't stand.

“What’d you find, oh brave explorer?” Deacon said with a smirk as the merc came back into the small trailer.

“Here. Everything else we blew holes through, and I’m sorry but I'm not stripping those dead assholes for pants.” Mac tossed his meager armor choice to Deacon as the spy sat up with more than a few hisses of pain. A grin alighted on Deacon’s face, and Mac almost _knew_ he should have seen this coming.

“A leather harness, huh? Why RJ MacCready, I didn't know you had a kinky side.” The blush that came over the younger man’s face alone was worth it, and the sputtered denials while Deacon smirked made him forget the pain for a moment. 

“That was _all_ they had that wasn't damaged, assho-- _jerk._ ”

“I love you too. Wanna help me up?”

Mac’s face was still red as he carefully got Deacon to his feet, and the teasing as they got the harness on the older man more or less died out as Deacon tried to ignore the pain in his ribs. They probably _were_ fractured, but they didn’t have time to wait around. He was standing at least, a little tired still from the quick work of the stimpack, but ready to take back up on their path south.

It was around the Mass Pike Interchange that Mac kept shooting the older man looks of concern. He knew the place was devoid of Gunners. He personally took to keeping it that way after him and Nora had cleared it out the first time-- count _another_ instance of her putting others before herself. But the area still made him nervous, and the more nervous he got, the more he worried over Deacon’s injuries. 

“Just let me stim it,” Mac said after some time, taking point so nothing got the drop on them, but taking notice of how Deacon was falling behind. It was far further than necessary, and potentially dangerous if they got separated should something surprise them.

“I've had worse.” 

“I think your ribs are _fractured,_ man.”

“You should've seen me after my first girlfriend broke my heart.”

Mac only frowned, eyeing the dried brown blood splattered across Deacon’s torso. The shirt was going to need to be retired after this, for what little good it was doing now even with the harness. And with them avoiding the road, it wasn't likely they'd pass any traders or caravans that might sell them a decent chest piece. If anything hit the older man just this side of wrong, it would take him out. Bruised ribs friggin’ _hurt_ , let alone a fracture or break. They couldn't afford being slowed down like that. And it wasn't just the lowering sun causing the sweat to bead on Deacon’s brow.

“We have enough stims, and there’s a few caches we can check further south to replace with.”

“I promise I'm fine. Scout’s honor.”

Mac didn't know what scout’s honor was, but the little grim lines at the corner of Deacon’s smirking lips was enough to tell him otherwise. The man was in pain, and though his determination was admirable, this didn't help either of them. The more he tried to laugh it off or make jokes, the more MacCready realized how serious it must be. Deacon was a good liar, but _this_ was different.

“I'm stimming it,” Mac stated decisively, removing his pack while Deacon huffed. He motioned to an old rotting log with authority. “Sit down and lift up your shirt.”

“Ooh you're bossy. I like it.”

Mac ignored him _and_ the heat in his cheeks at the teasing, again feeling the other man’s torso for where he suspected the fracture to be. The bruising, swelling that wasn't there before, and Deacon’s hisses of pain, of course, _helped._

“Sorry,” Mac genuinely muttered as he worked, cheeks heating a little at his lack of grace for treatment as Deacon made an amused noise between injections.

“This isn’t your first time, is it Mackers?”

“Oh shut up. And move your arm.”

“Where would you like me to put it?”

“What if I said up your ass?”

“Language, MacCready, _language_. Geez. Remind me to put a cap in the swear jar when we’re back.”

Mac rolled his eyes even as the spy grinned, genuinely trying his best to not hurt Deacon as he carefully stimmed around bone covered by thin, bruised flesh. He’d have to do more than a few good deeds by the time they found Nora if he was already cursing not even a day into their trek. He couldn't help it though. Deacon just knew every button to push, and he knew he was pretty much helpless against it. 

As much as he wanted to tell Deacon off, he kept muttering apologies at the hisses and rankled ‘ow’s that came out of the older man’s mouth. There was about a quarter of a vial left in the syringe by the time Mac figured he was done, but he injected the rest anyways; didn’t want to take any chances. 

“Let’s give it ten minutes and then head back out,” he said with a hand flat against Deacon’s ribs, definitely feeling a difference since injecting him. The swelling had gone down, his skin didn’t feel hot with inflammation, and the other man’s heart beat steadily; not the previous staccato of labored pain. Mac removed his hand and looked up into those stupid sunglasses, pensive expression on his face. “How do you feel?”

“Pretty good. _Too_ good even. If that wasn't the best excuse in the world to cop a feel then I don't know _what_ is.”

Mac snorted, though he smirked. If Deacon was already sassing him, then he was fine. “You wish.”

“Wishful thinking has gotten me pretty far in life,” he said smartly back with a waggle of his brows, to which Mac snorted, reluctant smile on his face.

They made camp an hour later against an underpass. They didn’t risk a fire, the area dangerous as it was without the addition of a veritable signal flare. They needed rest. Surely Nora wouldn’t have neglected rest, and they were hopeful in cutting her off before she got into the Glowing Sea. 

Pushing as hard as they were, they could still beat her down to the edge of the Glowing Sea. Raiders and ferals and damn giant bugs aside, Mac was optimistic about the time they were making. 

He wasn’t, however, about what would have driven Nora down here in the first place. Deacon didn’t even have a joke in him over the matter as they rested shoulder to shoulder together, speaking in quiet, hushed tones.

“I can't believe none of us thought to ask after her kid…” Mac muttered, chewing some radstag jerky he’d lifted off one of their attackers. “That just… Of _all_ things to forget…”

“It's a sensitive subject and its been big times…. Lots of people to organize and triage and move around,” Deacon suggested automatically, his own mouth offering excuses he personally didn’t believe in. “It’s not every day one of the biggest shadow industries in the commonwealth is brought down.”

“That's no excuse,” Mac said uncharitably, offering more jerky to Deacon that the older man accepted but wasn’t hungry for. “I feel like a jerk.”

Well that made two of them.

“We should've been there for her,” Mac continued in his muttering.

Deacon _was_ , but not in the way she'd needed. He wished he hadn't been a coward and had actually said something to make her want to stay; said what he actually felt like he'd intended when he'd sought her out. But instead he'd taken the easy way out and left things for morning, and boy did he regret it.

Truthfully though, he honestly hadn't thought she’d make good on the plans to go to the Glowing sea. They were the words of a grief-stricken mother on a serious drug and alcohol bender after destroying the biggest threat to the commonwealth since… well, since _ever_ as far as he reckoned. Big, unguarded words that he'd intended to help her sort out in the light of day. 

It made him feel more than responsible for their current trek across the wasteland. 

The one plus was the sniper at his side. Deacon didn’t want to admit that this was something he couldn’t do on his own, and he was more than grateful to have Mac with him.

The trip itself, okay, he could've done that, but facing Nora after seriously letting her down… He felt like a damn coward. And hearing the younger man’s own self-disappointment made him feel just the slightest bit better; it lended legitimacy to all his concerns and made real his self-loathing in the matter, _not_ just an inflated sense of self-disappointment. He _should_ feel as bad as he did. He knew how he'd reacted had been wrong, and he'd let down a partner, which helped him quantify just how damn much he'd need to do to make up for the fact. There was a little comfort in such a plain fact.

Mac leaned heavily against the cinderblock they used for cover. The noises of the oncoming night didn't do anything to mask his unease as he looked sidelong at Deacon and then back into the underbrush. “I need to…. Hmph.” He trailed off, disgusted with himself for his lack of empathy for a partner who was hurting big time. So much for being an observant sniper.

Deacon nudged his shoulder, looking at him a little too intensely. “Need to what?” he asked with curiosity, watching the other man with more than passing interest; as if he had an answer to a question Deacon didn’t even know he needed.

“I think I… We screwed up here. I need to apologize when we find her…” Mac said heavily. It was easier to admit his shortcomings in this matter with the sun down, in the shadow of the overpass. He felt like the oncoming night would hide his shame, even if he knew he wasn't so naive to think it actually _would_. “She shouldn't have been… just tossed to the side like that. I didn't-- _Heh,_ drinking beer and celebrating like an idiot. I just figured she was making her rounds with everyone else, you know, savoring victory or some shi- stuff like that. We should've been looking out for her.”

Deacon didn’t poke any fun at that, no joke there at all. It was the truth in the most simplest of terms. Mac had it right.

Deacon clasped a hand on Mac’s shoulder, as if he could comfort himself in the same action while the sniper gave him a look of self-loathing. It was a look Deacon felt all too keenly. “We’ll make it right when we find her.”

Mac was still frowning, but he placed a hand over the one Deacon had on his shoulder, giving it an appreciative squeeze before letting it go. “Yeah… Yeah, guess we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a lot of this feels forced, but then i might be rushing to get this out before discouragement/disinterest keeps me from updating. We won't be on the road for much longer, i'm too impatient for finding nora and getting to some smut LOLOL 
> 
> Please comment if you're having fun :) I would literally not update if there were no comments. Petty bitch is petty LOLOL
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to not work on so many stories for so many fandoms at once hahaha Ya'll still there? Anyone reading this? xD

“ _Eeeuuurgh_ shut up!” Mac yelled sarcastically as his rifle made contact with the last feral’s head. His following shot rang through the Robotics Pioneer Park, and then everything was thankfully silent.

Deacon holstered his own weapon as their carnage was complete. “You know, for calling this a robotics park, I sure don't see a lot of robots. They should call this Feral Pioneer Park.”

“There used to be a lot,” Mac informed as he shouldered his rifle following the spy. It was warm against the back of his coat. “Ferals must've taken out the other ones.”

It hadn't been what Deacon had meant-- leaning more towards its pre-war state- but then he _had_ seen several empty protectron pods inside one of the cabins, and Mac _had_ been here with Nora before. Knowing how quick her fingers were with a terminal, she'd probably been the one to release them all.

There was a lone protectron still puttering about the perimeter of the small lake, sparking with damage. No other robots were around that he could see. There’d been _plenty_ of ferals, though. The one thing you could always count on the wasteland providing. 

“At least there'll be less resistance for her if Nora comes this way… _If_ we’re in front of her.”

“I think we are,” Deacon said with only a tad more confidence than he truly felt. They'd been making decent time though, and he counted on her penchant for particularly nasty hangovers to give them an edge in this. Hopefully she'd spent some good time holed up some place resting before moving on. Maybe even a whole day… though that was probably a pipe dream. “If she's been sticking at _all_ close to the road, then we’ll definitely head her off.” 

She also had her pip-boy, and it was with _that_ knowledge that Deacon pushed them so hard. It gave her a tactical edge to stay on target, and gave him that much more drive to make sure they got to her before _she_ got to the Glowing Sea. 

He had _quite_ an apology to make; he wanted to make things right.

“Vault 95 is up ahead,” Mac informed as they took care to pick around the old scrap palace, avoiding the super mutant nest. “Old Gunner hub. We cleared them out a while back, buuuut I know how they can't take ‘get lost’ for an answer.”

“I bet you do,” Deacon said with a bit of a smirk.

MacCready gave him a cagey frown. “What's _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Hey now, no judgment here,” Deacon told him as he held up his hands, backpedaling quickly as he honestly hadn't meant to offend. “You did the right thing getting out like you did is all; you're not like them. Just meant-- that kind of insider knowledge to how they operate is _valuable.”_

Mac snorted at that self-consciously, but Deacon pressed the issue. No one knew how they operated more intimately than the other man. He valued Mac's opinion.

“Should we avoid it altogether, do you think?”

Mac gave the thought careful consideration to their southernly route. If the Gunners had re-established themselves, then that was a fight they couldn't afford to deal with right now. Aside from time constraints, Deacon wasn't outfitted for the kind of ordinance Gunners usually packed, and Mac wanted to conserve his ammo for anything nasty that might be lured out of the Glowing Sea by their presence.

“There's a settlement a bit east nearby we might be able to get some answers from. If the Gunners are still set up, that might be a problem not just for us, but for Nora.” 

He doubted they could skirt that edge of the Glowing Sea without Gunners providing serious resistance to their presence, but if they were even an issue or not was still an unknown that he didn’t like.

Deacon gave him a grin and a nod before patting him on the back. “Sounds good to me. Lead the way oh fearless leader.”

Mac smirked. “I will, but only because the state of your ‘armor’ is embarrassing, and I'd rather have you behind me so the settlers don't run screaming.” He turned his back on Deacon while the spy only responded with teasing laughs.

“Suits me just fine! Gives me something nice to look at to inspire the journey.”

Mac threw a laugh over his shoulder at the spy who chose to waggle his brows over his sunglasses. He blushed a little bit but was overall amused. “Up yours, Deacon.”

Deacon only grinned. “You wish.”

\--

No one had seen Nora, and no one had reported troubles with Gunners since the last time she wiped the vault clean for the settlers. The news was welcome and also not, as no one had seen hide nor hair of her, but at least Gunners weren't a factor in that news.

They resupplied and bartered for a few goods, not staying longer than necessary. The settlers eyed Deacon warily-- the stains on his shirt getting looks of distrust- and the spy was quick to ferry MacCready back on the road once their stim situation was rectified.

“We didn't even get you a spare shirt. Not that they had much by way of chest armor,” Mac said, eyeing the blood that had since turned dark brown on Deacon’s ballistic weave. It was probably the cause of so many stares at Somerville Place. 

That, and the impatient glower Deacon hadn't been able to keep off his face.

“They're not gonna have _anything_ half as stylish with even a quarter of the protection this thing still has left,” he said judgmentally, though he grinned. Mac rolled his eyes and Deacon decided to further goad him for a better reaction. “I’d take the thing off altogether if I didn’t think it might distract you something awful,” he teased. “Just _me_ , a whole lotta bare skin, and a leather harness. How _are_ you keeping your hands to yourself?”

That actually got a laugh out of the younger man. “All that skin would be a tempting target for any raider out there. _Or_ a stingwing.” He shot Deacon a crooked, teasing smirk. “But sure, I mean, if you _prefer_ to be armorless, I won't stop you.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’d prefer me in just the leather? I can make that happen.”

Mac couldn't stop the snort that left him, trying to temper the tickled amusement on his face. “ _You're_ the one with the leather fascination, pal.”

“Oh I don't know. I've seen the way your eyes wander.”

Mac’s eyes went wide and his cheeks went totally pink, and Deacon couldn't help the satisfaction that brought. He knew Mac had looked at him more than once with curious interest, and it was nice to see there was actually _substance_ behind that. 

Deacon chuckled lightly as to take some of the weight from his little discovery in mercy; ‘it was just a joke, don't worry, you're still in the clear’ kind of laugh. 

Though now Mac knew he'd noticed, and _hoo_ but that might prove fun later. 

He gave him an out as they took up their generally-southern route, voice still full of mirth. “Speaking of which, I'll take point. Give you a good view the next few hours.”

“Fan _tastic,_ ” MacCready replied sarcastically, though the redness still didn't leave his face.

\--

The sound of rain showers drowned out everything else on the borders of the Glowing Sea a few hours later. The cloud burst worked to weigh down the deadly mists until it almost looked mundane.

They ate and drank water next to a small fire they'd built on the platform of the vault entry. No use going out in this mess; Nora wouldn't be out in that anyways.

“It's not right,” Mac brought up again as they waited out the rain seated next to one another, purified water in his hand and trouble in his thoughts. He frowned to himself. “We just-- how could _no one_ think about her kid? I can't get my head around that… and even _I_ didn't realize...”

Deacon didn't have an answer for that. Not a good one, anyway, that would justify how everyone had let her down on this matter. Yeah, the rubble that used to be the Institute was _still_ sending smoke into the sky and things were still hectic, but that didn't excuse _not_ having some sort of sentiments for the woman who'd pulled it all off. There was no acceptable waiting period for addressing this kind of thing. She'd needed someone to notice-- to care- but it took her _self_ to shine light on the matter, far, far too late.

Deacon still felt like such a huge asshole over everything. She’d made his life’s work come to fruition and he hadn’t even given her what she’d wanted-- _needed-_ to hear from him; if he’d just told her the truth, how he _really_ felt, and given her a _real_ reason to stay, maybe she would have.

“That's why it's important we bring her back,” Deacon said solidly, no joke or pun forthcoming. 

“That's another thing,” Mac said with a frown, looking out into the distance with judgmental distaste. “The Glowing Sea. _Why_ the Glowing Sea? She could have gone anywhere else in the Commonwealth to hide out or get away. There's _nothing_ out there.”

Deacon snorted. “That's what I told her.”

Mac looked at him sharply, but it was expected. Deacon didn't accidentally volunteer that information. He hoped the sniper had words for him over that; would blame him the way he blamed himself, because the wait for Nora to do it was killing him. 

He waited for the accusation-- that they wouldn’t even be out there if Deacon had headed this thing off- but it didn’t come.

“So you two actually _did_ talk? What else did she say?”

Deacon sighed. He wanted it off his chest. Wanted to lighten the burden of guilt. He _knew_ MacCready would share it the way he would put it, and what part of misery didn't love company? “That no one can ask anything of her out there. At the end of the day, avoiding being killed is all she has to do. Not too tall an order, except it's the Glowing Sea and all.” It was selfish of him to foist such words upon the younger man, and it sure as hell wasn't doing him any favors, but he couldn't help it. The passive judgment was there; he'd see what Mac would do with it.

The frown on the sniper’s face said everything Deacon felt all too keenly. His expression cycled through pity, dejection, sympathy, and above all, _guilt._ That was it right there.

Mac didn't hide it the way Deacon did, though.

The sniper shook his head. “We asked too much of her. We _all_ asked too much of her.”

“I don't know about that, but we definitely let her down when she needed us the most.”

It wasn't the most comforting of statements, if not totally condemning, but Deacon couldn't help himself; saying words he intended for his own ears. The Institute was gone, synths were freed, and the _one_ person who deserved the utmost gratitude and sympathy had somehow been left by the wayside by _everyone._

He didn't blame Nora one bit for wanting to ditch them all, but his own selfish feelings for her wanted to bring her back into the melee and spend the rest of his life proving just how wrong they all were. 

He wasn't yet ready to admit that aloud though, and he supposed that made him even guiltier than anyone else.

Mac’s voice took on a note of sorrowful determination, gruff with emotion. “I don't know a more selfless person in the entire damn commonwealth who’s done _half_ of what she has for complete friggin’ strangers… She deserves to be happy and actually have a _life_ after this. Not-- not the Glowing Sea.” He shook his head in self-chastisement, muttering with upset. “I’m _so_ used to taking instead of giving... I need to get my damn priorities straight. She needs to know we’re here for her.”

“We can make sure that happens when we bring her back,” Deacon said, not listening to the little voice in his head that said maybe she didn't want to _come_ back. Maybe the damage done was irreversible. He was scared at the possibility because he didn’t know what he’d do then. 

Mac gave Deacon a hopeful look. “...do you still think we can make her happy? After all that?”

The question caught Deacon so completely off-guard he pulled up short. Sure, Mac probably hadn't meant it the way Deacon _took_ it-- the two of them together, like, as a package deal if he got his way- but the question in of itself was so identical to what Deacon’s own mind had been daydreaming and idly planning that he was completely thunderstruck. 

The fact that Mac surely meant the _other_ facet to that same question-- if they could _still_ make up for the fact they'd totally screwed up- also threw him through a loop. God, he hoped they could make Nora happy; that she'd give them the chance and come back with them. The opposite wasn't an eventuality he wanted to plan for.

“Deacon?” Mac was concerned about the response that simple question had evoked in the spy. The older man looked like he was ready to either bolt right off the vault stairs or turn to stone, body entirely tense, coiled with potential energy like a mattress spring. The sniper placed a gentle hand on his shoulder that caused the spy to jolt. “ _Hey.”_

Deacon quickly shook himself from his reverie. “Yeah, no, yeah let’s- Let's just move. Rain’s letting up; we should walk the edge, check for any sign of her. She’ll probably be headed back out there too.”

“You sure? We can rest a while longer.”

Resting and letting his thoughts eat away at him was the _last_ thing Deacon wanted to do right now. “No. Let's push on. She has her pip-boy, remember. I wanna make sure we're taking the most direct route there; we don't have time for this.”

“Fair enough.”

\--

They left Vault 95 skirting back north-west on the edge of the radiation fallout zone, eyes peeled for anywhere Nora might have crossed on through without their knowledge. 

So far, there was no sign of her, and their trek was luckily devoid of encounters with wild animals or raiders. Looked like everything was still smartly hidden away from the downpour that had passed on through.

Everything but them, of course.

The wet crunching of their boots over old trees and roots was the only sound for some time before MacCready couldn’t take anymore. Deacon was used to silence as they trudged along through sodden dirt and burnt foliage, but Mac wasn't. 

“Maybe she _did_ change her mind,” Mac intoned hopefully as they reached the Federal Supply Cache. They got a good vantage point to watch for any moment, and sat there for some time. “I mean, it’s been a few days now since the Institute became a crater. Maybe she’s holed up somewhere else?”

Deacon wanted to believe that. He really did, but the hurt on her face still haunted him from that night. This hadn’t been a decision she’d made lightly. It had stung when he _hadn’t_ asked her to stay for him. “Maybe we’ll stumble into each other on the next pass along the edge.”

“Are we just gonna walk the perimeter of the Glowing Sea until we spot her?”

“You got a better idea?”

Mac gave him a frown. No, he didn’t, but he liked to _hope_ Nora wasn’t _actually_ crazy enough to go back into the Glowing Sea. After the first time they’d been out, and once more to make good on her promise to the scientist-turned-supermutant out there, she’d told Mac with a half-serious grin that the whole place oughta be nuked from orbit… except that that’s what brought the Glowing Sea into existence in the first place. 

Mac looked out at the broad expanse of dead trees, and rusted, destroyed car frames and building exteriors within that deadly orange and green. There were worse things than radiation out there to worry about, that was for damn sure. And for Nora to think it was a place to call home _really_ said something about her mental state right now. He hoped they found her before she made good on it. “Damn… I _really_ don’t wanna have to go back in there.”

“Then keep your eyes peeled for anyone and anything, and hopefully we won’t have to,” Deacon told him as he stood from their rest. “Ready to make another pass?”

“Yeah… I guess so.”

They talked about inconsequential things to fill the hours spent walking a path no one in their right mind would want to tread; Getting Sanctuary proper plumbing, fortifying the defenses and auto guns, and what they both thought pre-war food might've _actually_ been like, or if the fancy lads and nuka cola still tasted exactly the same as it had two-hundred years ago. Pretty gross when you thought about it.

They delved further into more personal territory as they picked through brush and looked for any signs of recent walk-throughs. Mac talked about wanting to bring his son out from the Capital Wasteland once he was strong enough, maybe put up his gun and pick up a hoe to farm again. Nora had made the commonwealth a safer place. There were less mutants and dangers to raise a child in, and the thought of Duncan growing up in Sanctuary amongst people Mac considered _friends_ wasn’t just some wayward dream anymore.

Deacon liked listening to MacCready talk about things he liked. A certain lightness entered his tone, and he was reminded that the entire world might _not_ be as shitty as he thought it was. It gave him hope. “Your boy look like you?” Deacon asked with casual detachment.

It made Mac beam regardless. “Yeah, he looks a lot like me. Same hair. Got his mom’s eyes at least, but poor little guy has my nose,” he laughed.

“You have a nice nose.” 

Mac snorted, though he grinned at the sentiment. “I don’t think so.

“Well you don’t have to look at it, so your opinion doesn’t matter here. Sorry, I don’t make the rules,” Deacon brushed off. It made the sniper a little self-conscious as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a pleased grin. Deacon decided to press his luck, genuinely curious, but knowing a sensitive subject like he was going to ask was like navigating a minefield. “...What was she like?” he asked gently, watching his footing along with his words as they navigated around fallen trees.

Mac looked up quickly, looked away, and then gave Deacon a considering look before answering with a soft smile. “She was kind, super patient, brought out the best in everyone… _way_ too good for this world.”

“The good ones usually are…”

“Mm,” he agreed, a sort of wistful tone in his voice. “She was definitely too good for me. I uh… She didn’t know I was with… with the Gunners when we met…” he said with still-lingering shame. “Probably wouldn’t have given me the time of day, let alone let me marry her,” he said with a sort of self-deprecating laugh. “Sometimes still can't believe she had a kid with a guy like _me.”_

“Don’t sell yourself short, Creaders. You’re cute as a button and twice as cuddly.”

Mac snorted, giving Deacon a slightly-hurt look at the easily-spoken sentiments. “You don’t have to make fun…”

“Who’s making fun?” Deacon asked, trying to keep any semblance of teasing from his voice. The last thing he wanted was to make Mac think twice about sharing with him, or that he'd ever think the man’s past was worth making fun over. Information was currency, but he actually had a personal stake in things here and didn’t wanna fuck it up. He didn't want Mac thinking he was making fun of him. “I might be pretty good at the lies, but I’m also spot-on the truth sometimes.” That got a snort, but Mac was cautiously smiling, so he tread on-- both in speech and their path- and just _went for it._ “And anyone with eyes in their head can see you’re an attractive man, and Nora told me you cuddle her in your sleep out on the road, so there’s that. See? Nothing but solid truth from me.”

MacCready could feel the heat in his face, stumbling over a branch but quickly righting himself as he tried to process Deacon’s words. There was no further teasing forthcoming, and Deacon didn’t look like he was playing a joke on him. It _was_ true that he’d accidentally rolled over his bedroll to wake up wrapped around Nora more than once-- something he’d _thought_ he was quick enough to rectify, and that it was just his little secret. Apparently _not._ He wondered how long she’d known.

He _also_ wondered that Deacon genuinely thought he was attractive. But that was-- _One thing at a time here._

“Uhh… She uh… She knows about that, huh?” Mac asked with a little embarrassed chuckle. 

“Apparently you’re _really_ cute to wake up to like that. She loves it. You should ask her about it some time.”

Mac turned totally, positively red, and Deacon dropped the topic altogether as he let that little seed of information germinate to be harvested at a different time. 

Deacon smirked to himself. Maccready was clearly in love with Nora even if he didn’t fully realize it himself. He would one of these days-- maybe enough to act on it with a little gentle prodding- but that was more for later. They had to _find_ her first, hopefully _without_ a trip into glowing hell, and convince her to come home; come back to Sanctuary.

Mac was Deacon’s trump card in this little endeavor; his hope that if she was angry with him for his lack of action-- _wouldn’t_ come back for him- then she’d at least come back for MacCready. Nora liked him. _More_ than that even, he was sure what with the way she looked at him, but Mac just hadn’t put two and two together yet, and Deacon himself was a coward who couldn’t tell her how _he_ felt. She knew about his wife-- hell, _both_ of their wives; they knew about her husband. It felt…. Maybe the same thing was holding them all back.

They walked on in silence for a bit, each ruminating to their own thoughts, pointing out spots and possible trails, but coming up on nothing. Either Nora had given up on this plan (unlikely), _or_ they’d totally beat her down this way, because so far there was _zero_ sign of her, even at some of her known resting points and caches this far south.

Mac picked along under the massive highway as they backtracked a little, hoping to find some evidence that she’d been through-- bodies, gunshots, dead bloatflies or broken brush- but it was quiet. Ordinary. Still no sign she’d been anywhere near the general vicinity. They tried casting a wider net as they walked on.

“Y’ever….” Deacon trailed off as Mac was at his side. They were circling back down the highway towards Vault 95 again. The spy was silent for several moments, gathering his thoughts as they walked, while MacCready patiently waited. “You ever… After your wife died…. Do y’ever think it would be… _disrespectful_ to move on?”

Mac cocked his head-- not at the topic so much as it was _Deacon_ asking it. The man didn't exactly open up to people, and this was about as intimate a question as he'd ever asked the other man. “Like… be with someone new?”

“Yeah,” Deacon said a little too-casually, like he hadn't brought up an off the wall question in the first place.

MacCready thought hard for several long moments. Not just about the spy’s question, but also _why_ the older man would be asking him such a thing; what he himself stood to gain or lose from answering, and what Deacon’s true interest was in asking in the first place. He didn't _seem_ like his intention was to tease, and if it was, it would've been in extremely poor taste even for Deacon, especially considering the things they’d already discussed prior. He knew Deacon had been married once, but he didn't know the details. 

The almost desperate, uncharacteristically _lost_ look on the older man’s face told Mac it was as self-serving a question as he suspected, and even if Deacon teased him for it later, he was going to answer what he felt in his heart. 

“I think it's important to remember,” he spoke after a few moments of thought. “But, I’d _also_ say it’s important not to get stuck in the past.”

The question in of itself had been one Mac had been asking himself a lot lately. An _awful_ lot-- just hypothetically, of course. He wasn’t thinking of-- Well, he wouldn’t make the first move. He wasn’t sure he could. Damn if he didn’t want to be extremely selfish sometimes though, emboldened and encouraged by little looks and lingering touches and smiles.

Mac hummed to himself thoughtfully, as if telling himself his own answer. “No, I don't think it would be disrespectful.”

Mac turned to ask Deacon something further on the topic, but whatever he was _going_ to say completely flit his mind as he looked at Deacon’s face, more than the tiniest bit shocked at the elicited reaction. He couldn’t help himself. He had to say something. “Are you… You're _blushing.”_

“No I'm not.”

“Yes you are,” MacCready said with a smile, feeling he had the upper hand for once and ready to tease the conversation to some lighter territory. He wondered that it was _Deacon_ blushing, and not _him,_ considering the question and the company. 

“We're probably both sunburnt. Should get into the shade before we become jerky for radroaches.”

“Yeah, _the sun_ is what's causing it, pal. Only on your cheeks,” Mac gently teased so as not to spook him. That Deacon had felt comfortable enough to even _ask_ the question when he was so wound up in his own secrets... Well, Mac was a lot of things, but he didn’t want to betray that trust. 

He slung an arm confidently across Deacon’s shoulder, his words casual but his tone serious if not friendly. “Come on man, you didn't just bring that up out of nowhere. Lay it on me, I'm all ears.”

 _This_ was precisely why Deacon never did the whole ‘opening up’ thing to people in the first place. That the younger man would answer his questions and _not_ follow up had been naive of him to assume. _Or_ he had his damn cheeks to blame as he’d gotten a little more than a tiny-super-bit excited over the sniper’s answer. “Oh shut up.”

“Come oooooon,” he coaxed with a grin, the arm he had around Deacon’s shoulder still not having been shunted off. He counted it in his favor even as it was making his own stomach go all funny; the close contact with the spy was the most he’d ever initiated, and it was getting his heart beating a little faster. New experiences and all that. Yep. “It's me, isn't it? Tracking was a rouse, you love having me here. You can tell me. What are travel companions really, eh?”

The irony was _almost_ enough to make Deacon cackle. Mac’s tone was clearly teasing in an attempt to get him to actually lay his true problems bare, but the sniper _clearly_ had no idea he’d hit the nail right on the damn head. This had to be some sort of cosmic karma for all the lies Deacon had ever told. Because it was…. _Complicated_ didn't even begin to cut it. 

Deacon shook his head with a little ironic smile. “...I really can't.”

“Sure you can. I'm an _excellent_ listener,” MacCready promised as he hung his head to try and get a better look at the older man.

At Deacon’s rather unkind snort, Mac frowned at him, and let go of the other man's shoulder to instead continue walking next to him as they had been. Deacon regretted it as much as it relieved him, and looked at Mac out of the corner of his eye. He wondered if the petulant-act was part of a ploy to get him to give up the information, or if he'd actually hurt his feelings. As far as tactics went, it was a good one. But Mac wasn’t a spy, and the look of hurt on his face was real.

Mac gave him a sidelong look before speaking. “I might not be as good as _you,_ but I _can_ keep a secret, thank you. And I know how to listen when someone needs it.”

Mac wondered if it had been too much teasing, or if Deacon genuinely didn’t think he could trust him. He'd _thought_ they were getting closer as they spoke a little more seriously. They’d never travelled together before, just the pair of them, but then he supposed maybe long hours on the road watching each other’s backs wasn't enough to earn someone like Deacon’s confidence. Even after knowing one another for _months._

That… that _kind_ of stung. 

“It’s not even much of a secret if I already _know_ it…” Mac grumbled the gamble.

Deacon snorted, but made sure it was one of light amusement and _not_ derision. He kicked a rock off into the brush on the edge of the highway. “And what do you think you know about my secrets, Mackers?”

“Is it Nora?” 

The way he stiffened was answer enough for Mac, and he almost wanted to roll his eyes at all the hubbub the other man had made concerning something that was, to him, so obvious. He took a practical route in this matter as Deacon steadfastly looked forward and nowhere else. He frowned a little at the way the older man was reacting. It was nothing to be ashamed of.

“You know it’s fine, right?” He chuckled a little to show how much it _wasn’t_ a big deal. “I think it’s safe to say we’re all more or less half in love with her. It’s why she’s the boss.”

Deacon smirked, making a noncommittal noise only, but that was fine. Mac figured he could talk enough for the both of them.

“You treat her different,” he went on to explain. “It's not hard to see. And I mean, it’s _Nora._ It makes sense.”

“No I don't.” Deacon frowned to himself in thought, still refusing to look in Mac’s direction. His heart sped up, fear as if Mac was easily laying him open and reading all his secrets like an open book.

“Yes you do,” Mac affirmed with a gentle smile, trying to tread carefully. “I'm a sniper. It's my job to be observant.” And he’d been watching the older man for some time now out of less than just casual interest. Deacon was… a very interesting person himself.

Deacon didn't say anything to that; let the other man fill in his own thoughts and ideas as to what he figured motivated Deacon. Because _clearly_ the older man was losing his damn touch if someone like Mac had found him out. And yeah, maybe he shouldn't be so surprised that the young merc was actually skilled at his job. But sharing information was potentially sharing weakness. Deacon was supposed to be a spy, so what MacCready had noticed said a _world_ about _him._ He wasn't sure he wanted that; hell, he hadn't even told Nora _herself_ how he felt because he'd been too afraid to do it, although clearly she knew something was there. But his inaction had caused hers.

And now here they were traipsing halfway across the damn commonwealth to what could only be considered the wasteland’s wasteland… All because of something that was apparently obvious to everyone but himself.

“...You should tell her how you feel.”

“What are you now, my guidance counselor?”

Mac snorted. He wasn’t sure what a guidance counselor was, but it didn’t matter. “You woke me up and dragged me out of bed to the edge of glowing hell itself to bring her back. Don’t tell me you’re _not_ more than a little in love with her because it’ll be a big fat lie.”

Deacon actually barked out a laugh at that, slightly hysterical that the younger man read him so damn well. “All I _do_ is lie, Macky-pie.”

MacCready frowned at the brushoff. “Yeah, but I _know_ this one isn’t true.” His frown deepened, and he repositioned his gun against his shoulder. He thought of Nora, coming all the way out here because she thought no one _cared,_ when clearly, _so_ clearly they did. They needed to make this right. She needed to _know._ “You should tell her how you feel, Deacon. I think she needs to know.”

“And what about _you_ , loverboy?”

Mac went pale before he turned red as he looked at the older man with wide, caught eyes for the accusation. Deacon mercilessly seized the opportunity to turn things around, knowing he was probably not doing himself any favors in this instance, but his heart couldn’t take much more honesty concerning his own person. At this point he was probably allergic to it. 

Mac sputtered as Deacon turned that sunglass-shuttered gaze in his direction before once again surveying their path. The sniper hadn’t realistically considered that option-- or that Deacon himself would suggest such a thing seriously, and it flustered the _hell_ out of him. “I-I don’t-- I mean, I haven’t really thought-- I-”

Deacon left him sputtering to his own realizations as they continued onwards. They didn’t talk anymore, but Mac’s face stayed red for a long, long time after. Well, better late than never for _that_ little realization, and better than anything to get the heat off _him._ Deacon just wasn’t ready for this… But he’d have to be, he realized, and probably soon, because he _needed_ her to go back with them, _safe,_ and if she was hellbent on the contrary then he’d need to actually step up and tell her how he felt.

They puttered around the safe zones of the border to the Glowing Sea, endless circles upon circles to make sure they wouldn’t miss her. So far, no tracks in or out from anything as far as they could tell. They'd probably beat her down here at the pace they'd set, honestly. Now all they had to do was hopefully intercept her.

That meant waiting. A _lot_ of waiting in a _lot_ of different vantage points, which didn't make it better because it was still _waiting._

“Why the hell would she _ever_ want to go into _that_ again….” It was the first words either of them had spoken in hours.

Deacon looked up from where Mac was peering out towards the glowing wastes, a look of distaste on his face. The sniper had been in those parts with her before. Something he swore he'd _never_ do again, yet here they were. 

Deacon returned his attention to the other man before looking back out to the glow. He'd heard stories, rumors, and some firsthand accounts from Nora herself, but generally he stayed far away from this part of the commonwealth, and his kind of intel didn't revolve around radiation. “What kind of stuff’s out there? For reals?”

“Lots of pre-war stuff. _Big._ The deathclaws too.” Mac’s face scrunched up in particular memory. “You'd never think anything _existed_ out there before all-- _that._ But then you see more highway, old buildings… heh, even a Super Duper Mart. Poor bastards never saw it coming.”

“Maybe they were the lucky ones,” Deacon proposed, trying to get back on even footing with the other man. “Suddenly there--” he snapped his fingers, “-and then just _done.”_

Mac turned to give him a sort of sick look. “Not really. There's a church out there, bunch of ferals in the bottom… and some weird bomb storage… Plenty of ferals there too. Maybe they've been there since the bombs dropped. Not to mention those Atom nutjobs.”

“Jesus…” Deacon didn't like the sound of that. If he was being generous, he could've surmised that the ferals wandered into the glow from the rest of the commonwealth. Not pre-war, having been there for the initial blast, but something more recent.

The look on Mac’s face though convinced him otherwise.

“I _really_ don't want to have to go back in there.”

“It's safe to say we beat her down here. We won't have to,” Deacon said confidently, wondering if they had an entire day on her or not. Maybe she _wasn’t_ in a hurry to get to irradiated death. There were plenty of animals and mutants and raiders between Sanctuary and here. Maybe she _was_ taking it nice and slow and careful. He sure as hell hoped she was, and that his haste to intercept her was going to do them right. 

“I don't think she'd go so far as to avoid us if she sees us, right?”

“Right.” Deacon wished he could believe that with the same amount of confidence as he'd said it, but truth was, remembering the hurt look in her eyes, he wasn't sure she _wouldn't._ God, he _did_ need to tell her how he felt. “We should still keep an eye out, though.”

They waited at a good vantage point for some hours. Then they took turns walking up and down the safe zone perimeter a ways to check for any possible signs of her. With the dawning of the third day, Deacon started to get edgy, and a growing sense of guilt and urgency was threatening to choke him.

“Maybe she changed her mind,” Mac suggested once again, cynically hopeful. “Maybe someone's seen her, or she's holed up at a settlement like I said.”

“No,” Deacon disagreed. “She was dead-set on coming here.”

Mac was tired; too tired of waiting as if they were doing nothing. He scoffed at the other man. “And what the hell makes you so damn sure?”

“Language.”

“Don't change the subject.”

Deacon huffed as Mac leveled a glare at him. It was a pretty impressive glare, he had to say. Probably something perfected to intimidate when he'd worked with the Gunners. It wasn't because of the glare that he spoke, though. He _had_ to let some of this guilt out, or he was going to actually drown in it. “She had that determined look in her eyes… That look she gets… You know the one I'm talking about.”

MacCready leveled an accusatory frown at him. Deacon knew way more than he was letting on, and he wasn't having it. Whatever he and Nora had ‘talked’ about a few nights ago, he didn't think it was _only_ about her son. Not with the look Deacon wore. “Just what in the _hell_ did you say to her, Deacon?”

The older man snorted. God If he could turn back the clock just a few days, right back to that moment. “It's more like what I didn't say.”

Mac was going to say something else smart to that, but then realized what he'd meant. His cheeks reddened at the thought, but he dropped the subject. Damn. He hoped they found her soon. 

The younger man huffed to himself and looked back out to the glow. He got more comfortable where he sat. “I really don't wanna go back in there.”

Deacon huffed. “Let’s make another pass through Somerville… Maybe one of her caravans has seen something.”

\--

The settlers at Somerville Place greeted them no-less friendly as before, but inquired if the General was alright, and was it really, _really_ true that the Institute was gone-- because why else were they looking for her? Did something happen?

Deacon wanted to tell them all to mind their own damn business except they _really_ needed answers themselves, and Mac let them know to try and keep her there if she _did_ pass through; that they had an important message or whatever for her. MacCready didn’t put too much stock in the lie he told, and frankly Deacon didn’t care at his lack of grace as it seemed to get the job done, and they could leave prying eyes all the sooner.

They took a different route from the others they’d made, having to take refuge in a forgotten lean-to near the settlement as a radstorm passed over right into the Glowing Sea. It wasn’t the _best_ shelter, but it was still better than waiting it out with over-interested do-gooders. Their eyes on him made Deacon want to bug right the hell out.

Budged up together under their shelter and waiting for the storm to pass, they found evidence that only Nora would've left behind, flattened underneath an abandoned red toolbox. It took several moments before MacCready realized just how significant his find was, and he nudged Deacon with anticipation.

“Fancy lads.” Mac held up the collapsed box, meticulously opened and laid flat as she liked to do. _Force of habit_ , she'd said. Another remnant of her past when they'd recycle the boxes.

No one else in the commonwealth would've bothered doing such a thing with their trash, but it was one of Nora’s nervous habits.

“Damn. We must've passed each other,” Mac said as he turned the box over and over in his hands as if it would tell them how long ago she’d been through. He looked at Deacon excitedly, then drew his gaze to just beyond the lean-to. She must’ve left a path, and they were gonna follow it. “We must not have seen her; maybe she was here not too long ago.”

They both looked up as the storm was still passing overhead. The noxious green clouds rolled on thickly through the sky and into the Glowing Sea.

Deacon offered him a smirk. “Hell, what’s a few rads now and then? What doesn’t kill you makes you… kind of sick.”

Mac snorted. “I’m ready if you are.”

“Fun times incoming then. I bet we’re not even an hour behind her, and still far enough from the rads to catch her.” Deacon's voice was optimistic as he gave Mac a hand up. “Gonna be back in Sanctuary by tomorrow night, Creaders, you just mark my words.”

Mac gave him a grin as they picked out her trail, indeed finding footprints in the softened earth just about Nora’s size. Her trail was _just_ shy of their own footpaths, and it was a wonder they hadn't actually bumped into each other yet.

“...Think she's okay?” Mac asked softly, still a little stunned she'd made good on coming down this far.

“Guess we’ll find out soon,” Deacon said. 

Not as soon as they'd like, though, unaware it wasn't a few hours she had on them, but more like a few _days_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this working at all? I feel like the first chapter was strong and second was shit if the reception is anything to go off. It's been about a month. Abandon or not?
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate the comments :) It's the only reason this thing gets updated, not to mention how frequently/timely i've been doing it haha :D Keep it up loves!
> 
> This chapter summary: ride 'em cowboy xD

They found a path Nora tread that skirted everywhere else they’d personally tramped on through. Her footprints in rain-softened earth and other evidence-- such as the fancy lads package- let them know that she’d been through. 

There were broken and trampled branches and twigs _not_ from their previous footfalls, _just_ out of reach of where they'd walked through, and it made Deacon cringe at the fact they'd missed something so huge. Like she’d come on through here with zero shits as to the mess she'd left in her wake and they were totally blind to it all.

Either they were crappy trackers, or perhaps Nora had been actively avoiding them the whole time.

In Deacon’s opinion, he _liked_ to believe it was the former. They'd walked up and down this edge of the irradiated wastes a lot, and the path they were following now lead them _right_ into the Glowing Sea.

They hadn't caught up with her.

“Frick.”

“You can say that again,” Deacon said. 

“God, she _actually_ went in there…”

Deacon removed his pack and pulled out some suits he'd lifted from Somerville-- with every intention of giving them back… _eventually_ \- and tossed one to Mac. It hit the sniper in the chest and he scrambled to grab the thing. “Get suited up.”

Mac rolled out the heavy suit with a groan. He _really_ did not look forward to stepping a single toe into that irradiated hell. He would, for Nora he would, but he wasn't happy about it. “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

MacCready offered an accusatory grin as Deacon was pulling the suit over his jeans. “Where did you even _get_ these?” 

“Borrowed off our nosy friends at the settlement.” He smirked a little cynically. “An insurance plan in case we did have to go in there… Glad our friends were able to accommodate us.”

Mac grumbled as he pulled on his suit over his coat and everything else. It wasn't the most comfortable fit, but it would keep them from going ghoul at any rate. He popped a few rad-X pills before attaching the helmet, but didn’t let Deacon fix his own helmet in place until he'd forced some rad-X pills into the older man’s hands.

Deacon raised a brow, knowing for a fact that the sniper had spent his caps on ammo and a few stimpacks shoved into Deacon’s own pack, _not_ medicine. “And where'd _you_ get _these_?”

“Borrowed ‘em,” Mac said with an unapologetic grin. “You're not the only one with sticky fingers.”

Deacon smirked with more approval than he wanted to admit, and they both dosed up and then headed towards the deadly glow. 

Mac prepped him for what to expect, what to _do_ , and what to look out for. The damn suits weren't exactly designed for combat, and they wouldn't last an hour without them. Luckily-- or _unluckily_ , the way you looked at it- this wasn’t Mac’s first or even _second_ voyage into that hellhole.

“Just be quiet, follow me, and we'll get this done as quick as we can,” the sniper began in already-hushed tones. “If we stick to the main highway we can avoid most of the bigger nasties. And watch out for the radscorpions. They're _enormous_ and they mean business.”

“Shit.” Deacon didn’t like this. He _really_ didn’t like this, but knowing Nora was at the end of it all, he could bear it. _Especially_ knowing that she was _alone_ to the mercy of the Glowing Sea while he and Mac had each other. “And just where do you think she’s headed? There's not exactly bed and breakfasts down here.”

“Virgil’s. _Definitely_ Virgil’s,” MacCready said with a nod. “It’s the only halfway-decent reasonably-defensible place in this whole irradiated shithole. Even has a still to purify water.”

“A MacCready swear…. I gotta tell ya, I am _not_ looking forward to this.”

“No kidding. Let’s just move as fast and quiet as possible. Virgil’s is… It’s _in_ there. About as deep as you can get without a legit death wish. Even those Atom nutjobs don't go that deep.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed heavily, senses already on edge as he tried to steel himself for yet another trek he didn't want to make. “And if she’s not at Virgil’s, then I don’t know where the hell she might be.”

\--

They walked side by side, not talking unless it was absolutely necessary, and moving carefully along the old highway. _Quietly._

The deathclaw that surprised them over an irradiated bluff didn't care _how_ quiet they were though, and then they were running towards the old Hopesmarch church for cover off the open road as the giant reptile lumbered after them. 

“ _Shit!”_ Deacon skidded in the dirt as he rounded a corner, scurrying up the side of the old church roof as MacCready tried to get off a crippling shot.

“Deacon! Be _careful!_ ” Mac yelled, his fear of the deathclaw only distracted by the fact that there were _ferals_ down there. A shitton.

He took another shot that would’ve hit true but for his helmet throwing his aim off. _Shit._ Another shot hit it right in the sternum, but the thing had thick, leathery skin, and the shot had only worked in pissing it off. But he’d adapted the aim quick enough to make the shot count.

The retort of Deacon’s gun echoed through the air as the older man was taking shots himself from the roof. It gave Mac enough time to send a bullet right into the creature’s leg before scrambling onto the roof himself. 

The creature roared at them, brandishing its razor-sharp claws. One swipe of those claws and that would be it- either for their suits and the radiation poisoning that would follow, or for the bodily injury that they’d bleed out from. Of all the things out here he didn't want to tangle with, deathclaws were the very top of that list.

“Damn, can’t this thing take a hint?!” MacCready shouted as he unloaded his rifle into it. It didn’t slow it down much, the radiation making the deathclaw bigger and _tougher_ than its wasteland counterparts, and it still came at them like they’d only tossed pebbles at it, trying to launch itself onto the dilapidated roof. Mac took the opportunity to reload as Deacon managed a shot that crippled the thing.

“Haha yeah! Take that ya big mutated lizard! We’ll be here all week!”

The deathclaw didn’t seem to think it had the disadvantage here, and _still_ continued to try and get at them. It was slower now that it was crippled, yeah, but it’s hands were still plenty useful, and it was _pissed_. 

Mac lined up a shot right between its eyes, thinking for a moment that his gun had gone off without him pulling the trigger, only to realize Deacon had stepped wrong, breaking right through the church roof with a wood-splintering crack and falling through with a surprised shout.

The sniper scrambled up further and away from the deathclaw as Deacon’s voice still rang in his ears. “ _Deacon_?!” His attention was split between the deathclaw slowly lumbering around trying to get at him from another angle, and the alarmed shrieks of nothing other than _ferals_ echoing from inside the church. 

Deacon had landed on his back on the second story balcony of the church, dazed and in pain a moment as it took a few seconds for him to realize just what had happened to him. 

No sooner than he’d gotten to his feet with a pained grunt did he hear the quick footfalls of feral ghouls and a pack headed right for him. He didn’t know how many there were at first glance, only that he’d managed to somehow take out the lead one with a direct shot to the face before catching the one behind it in the torso. 

He could hear MacCready somewhere above him, shouting _something_ at him as he tried to get away. Then a feral charged him from behind and the two of them went tumbling over the railing to the bottom of the church. 

Mac couldn’t hear anything over the rushing sound of blood in his ears as his attention was caught between the snarling deathclaw before him and the ferals below. He tried to warn Deacon about the one coming up behind him, the older man clearly stunned from the fall, when he’d watched them both go over the side railing and a far drop below.

The angry howls of the other ferals as they watched their prey fall below chilled the sniper inside his suit. They were too stupid to follow over the side of the rail themselves, instead trotting off elsewhere to try and get at Deacon. And the dust hadn’t completely settled yet- he didn’t even know if Deacon was okay.

“Deacon...! Deacon _answer me!”_

The deathclaw roared at him instead, frustrated it couldn’t get to its fleshy prey with its crippled leg and bullet wounds, and Mac instead turned his rifle towards the church. The ferals he could still see were fast, but he was a damn good shot, and his shot rang out as he dropped three in a row.

“ _Deacon_?! Come on man!”

He still couldn’t hear or see anything, his gut churning with cold fear as he searched in his scope for more targets. Then he saw it: Deacon had managed to crawl over some pews that stalled the ferals in getting at him, combat knife in hand and no gun. He _looked_ okay as far as Mac could tell, but their suits were _red._ And the fact that he’d lost his gun sent an icy chill up Mac’s spine. There were too many to take on with just a combat knife.

The ferals were picking their way over the pews, and Mac was able to drop a few with his rifle, but others he couldn’t get a clean shot without risking blowing Deacon’s head clean off. The spy slipped as he tried to climb higher and away, and a feral howl rang through the dead church as a reaver tried to grab at him, knocking him down as the rotted wood gave away and allowed for it to pass. 

Mac’s blood turned to ice water in his veins as he could hear Deacon’s shouts and grunts amidst the melee, and he felt like he couldn’t breath as a tightness constricted his chest.

Not again, _not again._

Mac was jumping into the second story of the church before he even knew what he was doing, his concern no longer on the crippled deathclaw snorting around up above, switching to his handgun and taking shot after shot from the mezzanine as other ferals tried to pour into the breach the reaver had made. 

He didn’t have time to figure out a better way down, hauling himself over the side railing without thinking and dropping heavily to the floor of the bombed-out structure. It hurt his knees with his pack on, and he grunted in pain and got to his feet, fear clawing at him as he could no longer see Deacon from this angle. It took him just a moment to gather himself, but then he was already lining up his next shot at the group trying to crowd into Deacon’s space.

Deacon had thought he’d seen Mac drop into the church, but he couldn’t tell the state of _how._ Had the deathclaw gotten him? Had he jumped in there intentionally? He’d heard shots…. And would Deacon live long enough to even find out as this _goddamn_ reaver was snapping its jaws at him? Trying to claw him _regardless_ of the fact that Deacon had a death grip on its wrists as he tried to keep it away from damaging the suit. 

It was disgusting up close. Leathery. A mockery of anything once human, with twice the raging fight in it of any man. It didn't know pain, it didn't know fear, and it was intent on ripping Deacon apart.

It was a seriously fucked up situation, and the absolute _last_ place on the long list of where Deacon figured he might die: in the middle of the Glowing Sea, on his back in a pentecostal church, with what might’ve one time been the preacher _currently_ trying to take a bite of him. It was Fucked up with a capital F.

It was hard to keep the thing’s mouth away, not trusting the jaws not to bite through his helmet, and he was tiring and his back fucking _hurt,_ and he could still see other ferals trying to get at him past the one on top of him that was _thankfully_ too small a space to accommodate two. 

He was scared, he realized, that this might actually be it, and he quickly weighed the pros and cons of letting go of the damn thing to retake his knife-- risk a bite or gash- and if he’d survive radiation poisoning or flesh wounds long enough to make it back _out_ of the Glowing Sea. 

Might as well start making his damn peace right now.

Multiple bangs of a handgun at close range met his ears as he realized pieces of feral went flying, and then Mac was there in the next instant, pulling the reaver off him and throwing it before charging it with the butt of his rifle. He bludgeoned it to death before looking back at Deacon, eyes frantic inside his helmet as all threats were eliminated. 

Mac was over the other man in a second, checking for wounds as the older man still lay there catching his breath, a little dazed by what had just happened. 

“Deacon-- You okay?! Are you okay?” His hands were quick and firm over the spy’s sides, his chest, his torso, but the damn suits were red and he couldn't easily tell if he'd been injured or not.

Deacon huffed with gratitude as he wrapped fingers around one of MacCready’s wrists. “You keep puttin’ your hands all over me and I'll be better than okay. One-hundred and ten percent!”

“ _Dammit_ man are you alright?!”

His eyes were still searching, _haunted,_ Deacon thought, as the spy righted himself, giving the sniper a dismissive pat to the flank. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Back fucking hurts, but nothing a day at the spa and a nice massage can’t fix.” Mac frowned at him but offered his hand up, and Deacon took it, hissing and then stretching as he surveyed the carnage surrounding him. The sniper lived up to his name, apparently. Everything had been put down with bullets to spare. “Man, I can’t believe you just jumped in like that. You got thrill issues. But we’re alive, so, hey, go Team Us.”

Mac-- satisfied that the older man was okay and not seriously hurt- left him to sit down at one of the upright pews. He removed his helmet and scrubbed his face with his hands before putting his head in them. Deacon wondered if he'd gone too far with nonchalance.

“That was a joke, Creaders. Just a joke.” Deacon watched him a few moments, mindful of the fact that the area _wasn’t_ one of those rare safe zones out in this irradiated hell. They’d popped a few pills, but they were still soaking up rads. Less than topside, but more than was healthy. “Hey. You should put that back on. Unless you _didn’t_ want more kids, in which case, you know, you do you…” He still wasn’t acknowledging him, and it tugged at something inside of Deacon; something a little too deeply concerned and empathetic. “You, uh, okay there Mack attack?”

He was sitting there on the old pew with elbows on knees and his hands clasped against each other to his forehead, eyes closed and trying to stop the shaking that had started in his hands. Mac just needed to get a hold of himself; for the shaking to _stop_ , and then they could continue on. He'd been out here with Nora once before… and it wasn’t like he hadn’t killed his fair share of ferals since, but something about _this_ time just got to him. It wasn’t a metro and he wasn’t a kid anymore, but he'd just been so damn scared he was going to see it all happen _again._

“ _MacCready_.” A gentle hand was put on his shoulder, squeezing firmly. “ _Hey.”_

“Just… give me a second. Just a second,” his haunted voice came, weary and a little embarrassed as he scrubbed at his eyes and held his head in his hands.

It was more than just a second as Mac sat there trying to compose himself. Deacon gathered his things and then sat next to him on the pew, digging out some more rad-X from Mac’s own pack for the other man to take and passing him a bottle of purified water.

They sat there several more moments, and Deacon wrapped an arm around his shoulders, feeling light tremors go through the other man. He'd seen shell shock before, but not on the snarky sniper. It was unnerving to say the least. “...You wanna talk about it?”

“No… no, let's-” he sat up proper, taking a deep breath to steady the sound of his voice and pointedly _not_ looking at Deacon, “Let's just get to Virgil’s cave and then get the hell out of this place.”

Deacon considered their options; the state Mac was in. They shouldn't linger here for a multitude of reasons, but going up before he was ready back into the fire itself wasn't necessarily smart either. “...You wanna rest a few more minutes? We can make the time.” It wasn’t wise to rest there, but for the moment, rads were their only major concern, and it was probably the only respite they’d get. 

“No…” He put his helmet back on, cracked his neck, and took a deep breath. He stretched his fingers as the worst of the shaking had subsided, and that tightness in his chest was mostly gone. “We’re soaking up rads in here. Time to go.”

Deacon stood and gave him a hand up, then slung an arm around his shoulder for another quick, supportive squeeze that the smaller man appeared to appreciate, and then they found and climbed a set of stairs and then another to a tower to poke their heads out in surveyance. 

No deathclaw in sight, no ferals, and only the pleasant sickly orange death of old radiation all around them. _Terrific._

“Okay, looks safe enough. Let’s go,” Mac said as he clambered over the top, rifle in his arms and eyes alert. Deacon followed, and they stood there a moment on the roof before skirting the edge of the tower to the ground. “We should move back to the road. Stuff is bigger the more inland you get; Nora would avoid this.”

“Fine by me,” Deacon replied as he checked his gun and the fit of his pack, then stretched out his aches and pains. 

Mac hopped down off the roof, a scowl on his face and slightly embarrassed at the way he’d kind of gone to pieces. Deacon hadn’t teased him about it at least, and he _really_ didn’t want to spend time dwelling on it. He looked up at the other man adjusting his pack and checking his gun, and turned his attention back to the road. Around the corner and over the bend, yada yada, he couldn’t remember the rhyme, but they’d overtake Nora if they were fast. Hopefully.

He threw a look over his shoulder to where Deacon was still standing in the roof. “Any _day_ now.”

“Cute,” Deacon muttered. “You talk as if some of us _haven’t_ just fallen on our backs…”

“Just stim it and let’s go, old man.”

Deacon snorted at the shit-eating grin on Mac’s face and considered doing just that, actually. He _really_ hurt. He’d probably be one giant bruise later, but he wasn’t _bleeding_ , and there were worse things to need a stim for. He'd rather deal with the pain and save it for flesh wounds, honestly.

“ _You've gotta be freakin’ kidding me!_ ” Mac shouted out, making Deacon look up as the _same_ deathclaw from before rounded the church from the other side, limping horribly, snorting heavily, but making its way steadily towards Mac.

Deacon took a shot as Mac was aiming his own rifle, but it went wide and nearly took Mac’s head off instead of the deathclaw. The position was just all wrong, and it was too risky to take another shot from his vantage point. _“Fuck.”_

The sniper was shooting round after round into the big lizard’s chest, and Deacon could count that he’d need to reload shortly, but the deathclaw was _close_ and still coming at him like MacCready was only a minor inconvenience, bullets barely having effect.

Deacon did the one _logical_ thing he could with MacCready about to take a clawfull of knives to the face: he got out his combat knife and jumped from the roof _right_ onto the creature’s back.

The deathclaw didn’t know what was happening with the sudden weight, not used to being a creature of prey in its confusion, and Mac’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

Deacon was stabbing over and over at the base of its head, holding on for dear life as it thrashed in an attempt to throw him. He got his knife in deep, holding it for leverage with one hand while with the other he unloaded his entire clip into the creature’s brain. 

It finally fell without grace into a heap, twitching as Deacon jumped off it with a hiss. Yeah, his back was going to _hurt_ tomorrow, more than it did right now, but he couldn’t help but laugh. Laugh for being alive, laugh for the look on Mac’s face, and laugh at such a hellish, shitty situation that he didn’t think could get worse, but kept on proving him wrong.

Mac looked somewhere between shock, awe, and fury as he still stared at the dead deathclaw, and then approached Deacon as the spy tried to further laugh off his shitty aim that had almost taken Mac’s head. He expected… _words_ for that.

“What do you think? A deathclaw rodeo would be something the commonwealth has never seen before. Think I should patent the idea?”

Mac was marching up to the spy with clear intent of _something_ , and Deacon was prepared to be struck for the shot that had gone wide with the way his body was so tense. 

He wasn't expecting Mac to hug him, pulling the other man close and holding him hard. He kept waiting for the punch that never came, instead hearing MacCready’s relieved, impressed voice.

“That was the stupidest, craziest thing I have ever seen in my damn life.”

Deacon brushed it off with an uneasy chuckle for the contact, more used to taking than receiving. He uneasily wrapped his arms around the sniper, returning the hug. “What? Me wrestling a deathclaw? Please, you should try it in a kiddie pool full of gelatin. How do you think the Railroad pays for stuff? Gotta drive membership somehow.”

“It takes a _lot_ to impress me, but watching you kill that Deathclaw… _hoo_ … That was something else. I would've been mincemeat if you hadn't done that. Thanks.”

“Oooh you all hot for me _now_?” Deacon joked, uncertain and unconfident as the younger man still hugged him close. “If I’d known all I had to do was wrestle a deathclaw to make you fall in love with me I’d have done it _ages_ ago.” He gave him a squeeze to send the point home.

Mac pulled away to give him a frown for such carefree attitude, still holding him tightly though. “I’d kiss you on the damn lips if these helmets weren't in the way. That was hands down the craziest shit I've seen in my life. _No one_ will ever believe me.”

“We're going to be able to buy a vacation to New Vegas soon if you're cursing at this rate,” Deacon said with a grin, ignoring the way his heart beat all the harder. Mac _still_ hadn’t let him go. “But you can give me that kiss after we find Nora if you want.”

Mac let him go with a snort at that, his face red inside his helmet but not about to be outdone by Deacon’s teasing. Not this time. Were they flirting? He _thought_ it was flirting. Deacon flirted with everyone though, and they _had_ just survived a double damn crisis. Whatever, he could definitely throw the treatment right back at the other man. “You just try and stop me.”

Deacon laughed-- _genuinely_ laughed- while the merc kicked at the deathclaw corpse before satisfactorily leaving it be, and they took back up on the road further south. 

Whether or not Mac had meant it, Deacon thrilled at the statement nonetheless, and took up at the other man's side.

\--

“What the hell? Is that a _flower_?”

“Ash blossom, yeah,” Mac informed quietly as they picked about some manufacturing plant westward. They’d gone further than he’d thought they’d need to, _certain_ they’d catch up to Nora by now, but there was still no sign of her, and sticking to the road was no longer an option. Virgil’s cave was west. And they were going west. “Stuff grows out in this muck, can you believe it?”

Believe it? He was going to have nightmares after this. “Could you imagine a bouquet of those? What do you think it means in flower language? Probably something along the lines of ‘my love will incinerate you’. Or a sonnet about radiation.”

MacCready snorted in response, a smile on his face. “You can eat ‘em, apparently. And Nora knows how to make antiseptic from it.” 

“Disgusting. Think I could dare anyone back at HQ to eat it?” Deacon gathered them with an interested smirk. “The ugliest salad anyone's ever seen….”

Mac just shook his head, snorting, until he dropped into a crouch. Deacon followed suit, looking for hostiles only to see a few bloatflies. Not worth wasting the ammo or making noise over. They adjusted their route accordingly.

They were surprised by the _lack_ of hostiles they encountered within the Glowing Sea after the initial fight at the church. Deacon didn't point out that maybe the reason nothing was around was because it was all attracted to _other_ prey in the area. Namely _Nora._ But thinking it and saying it were completely different things, and if there was a god left in this world, he didn't want to press his luck.

There was an opening in the side of the mountain; a rocky cave with debris Mac didn’t remember being around it, but that _was_ Virgil’s cave. Definitely it.

“There it is,” Mac pointed out, their course a straight-shoot now. She _had_ to be in there.

“That? You sure?” MacCready gave him a look as if to say, _are you_ really _asking_ me _that_? Deacon shrugged. “We’ve passed a lot of caves is all.”

“Yeah, and someone _else_ on vacation out here did all _that,”_ Mac pointed out sarcastically at the bodies littering the cave opening. “ _Yes_ it’s this cave.”

They made their way to the opening, the debris becoming more clear and taking shape as a littering of different animals and ferals. Nora had… taken out some serious aggression, it would appear. And she’d clearly been out here more than a few hours if the carnage before them was any indication. The suits might've filtered out rads, but the smell was something else. These things had been dead long enough to reek.

Though maybe her land mines had also played a part in that. There was a deathclaw in _pieces_ here, after all. Pretty well-fortified setup she had, and _definitely_ more than a couple hours on them.

They had to carefully sidestep the mines, but made it through the opening without incident otherwise, and Mac released a sigh of relief. They removed helmets once inside, Mac knowing the area was somehow free of radiation, and wondering not for the first time if it was just a natural state of the cave, or if Virgil had done something that made it an ideal hiding place. 

...Probably just the cave, honestly, in Mac’s professional cave-dweller opinion. 

“Knock knock,” Deacon hollered as they stepped inside, removing his helmet as well and listening for any response, pissed off or otherwise.

Mac strode forward confidently, and Deacon didn't know _how_ the sniper missed the _click-whirr_ of turret motors, but he grabbed the younger man in alarm and rolled them against the wall before they could be fired upon.

“Deacon! What are you doing?” Mac hissed at him as the rock wall dug into his back. The scowl he gave the older man had no effect whatsoever.

“Do you or do you _not_ hear turrets, MacCready?”

The man in question rolled his eyes as Deacon pinned them in place. “ _Yes._ Virgil had this place tricked out pretty nice. Gotta with all the crap outside trying to get _inside_ ,” he informed. 

He raised a brow at the older man as Deacon stared at him a few moments-- thinking, Mac assumed- feeling the way his heart beat quickly in his chest through the suit. Deacon’s breath was hot on his neck as the other man pressed him into the wall to be as inconspicuous as possible, still listening and weighing their options. 

Mac had a little self-doubting moment as his heart sped up-- was he getting _excited_?- and gave the older man’s back a reassuring pat as Deacon still had not moved. “They won't fire on us, it's safe… Promise. Uh… you can get off now.”

Deacon’s brow furrowed a moment before an amused grin of opportunity took up his stupid sunglasses-clad face, too late for Mac to take back his words. “Oh I can, can I?”

“Stop poking fun, it's not the time.”

“When _can_ I poke--”

“Hey boss?” Mac hollered out, ignoring Deacon and his stupid-wide grin as the older man let him go, his voice echoing in the cave. “It's MacCready and Deacon. You here?” The only answer he got back was the gentle machine whirring of the turret as he and Deacon stood in the alcove. He looked back at the older man. “Maybe she's not here?”

Deacon shook his head. After the shit they’d been through today and the crap that lived out there? She _had_ to be here. There was no place else _to_ be. And if she was… Well, he wasn’t certain what kind of reception they’d get, but he hoped she wasn’t too pissed off. “That's a pretty big pile of bodies outside.”

“Boss?”

Deacon made Mac wait as he decided to test the truth of the turrets or not while the sniper rolled his eyes. He was very, _very_ grateful Mac was correct, and they didn't fire on him. They ventured further in until the tunnel gave way to the mouth of the cave and all the amenities therein. 

She was inside alright. 

Under a bloodied lab coat, curled in on her side, unconscious, and pale beyond any expectations they might've had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you wanna see 'em all hurt >:3 Because hooooo let's bring on the _pain_. Can you feel it mr. krabs?
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of treating this as.... more or less reaching max affinity with these guys but they haven't had the proper romance 'talk' yet xD also artistic license and all with consideration to medical stuff xD hope its working and not too confusing haha

“ _Fuck._ Nora. _Hey,_ Nora,” Deacon’s voice was alarmed as they quickly approached where she lay, unmoving and nonreactive to their presence. 

His hand was on her forehead, and Mac was carefully peeling back the bloodied lab coat that covered her to find a quickly-placed bandage covered in old brown blood. It obscured more than half of her chest above her heart, partially exposing her but neither gave a single shit in seeing the angry red lines of infection radiating out from whatever wound was there.

She was shockingly pale, and didn’t rouse even with their examination, and that scared them most of all. 

“This isn’t good…” Mac muttered the understatement of the year, swallowing over the lump that had formed in his throat. “Whatever happened… We can stim it, you think, right?”

Deacon didn’t know, but god he hoped it would make a difference. “She’s burning up,” Deacon reported, looking at her pallor with keenly-felt regret. Her breathing was laboured, her expression even while unconscious one of clear pain. _Shit._ This didn’t happen in the space of a few hours’ lead… She’d been here for some time. 

MacCready was still trying to rouse her as Deacon was taking off his pack to grab every stim they had. They could fix this. Whatever had happened, they could fix it, and he’d make his apologies, and they’d take her home, and they could talk about this as a misadventure in the future. Yeah.

Mac took up a cloth and poured water on it from their pack, fixing the damp cloth about her forehead to try to cool her off. His pulse was pounding in his neck and a sort of feeling like missing a step on the stairs in the darkness swept through him with another look at her face. 

He was scared, he realized. She'd been here too long by herself already for whatever had happened. Had she really beat them down here that fast? Been here long enough to get hurt and an infection to build? He hoped a few stimpacks would fix this up; that she wasn't too far gone already, because there were deathclaws and ferals and radscorpions between them and the nearest doctor who might help.

Deacon was digging around inside his pack as Mac wiped at Nora’s hot face, a chill going up his spine as his gloved-hand encountered broken glass. “... _Fuck_. MacCready.”

“What?” Mac removed his attention from inspecting the bandage across her ribs to feel the blood drain from his face. Deacon held broken glass and bent hypos in his hand; their stimpacks crushed. Useless. “Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me…”

“...must’ve broken when I fell…” Deacon muttered helplessly, his heart rate picking up further as he looked back at Nora lying there unresponsive. He met Mac’s eyes through his sunglasses, a desperate look on his face. “ _Please_ tell me you’ve got something in your pack we can use. An extra stim we forgot about… Hell, a bottle of vodka even... Or a field medic.”

Mac was dumping the contents of his own pack onto the cave floor without care, trying to find something-- _anything_ \- that might help. There wasn’t a lot, actually. Between the scuffles they'd gotten into in actually getting down there, they had more than enough radaway and rad-X for the territory, but very little otherwise. He didn't see how buffout or jet would help them here. Deacon had been carrying their extra stim packs himself since they’d had so many. 

All of them.

“I don’t… I don’t think we can salvage those...” Mac said looking into the older man’s hand. He looked at Deacon’s face-- the way the spy was holding himself altogether- and it was clear Deacon blamed himself for the ruined hypos in his hand.

“Okay… Okay so we do this the old-fashioned way for now… You said there was a still?”

Mac showed Deacon the resources the cave provided, trying to come up with a plan of action as Nora _still_ laid there blind to their presence. With the amount of noise they were making and trying to come up with a plan, they kept getting more and more nervous as she didn’t move a muscle.

They dug off their radiation suits to pat down their persons just in case-- check pockets for forgotten meds, _anything-_ but still no help. They boiled up some purified water in the meantime and dug about in Nora’s own affects, finding more bandages at least, but not a single stim. Whatever had happened-- whatever she'd been through getting down there herself- had also left her wanting for resources.

“Dammit, didn't that Institute asshole leave _anything_ useful behind?” Deacon asked as they emptied toolboxes, a small chest, and dug in nooks and crannies and _anywhere_ that might be storage.

“Oh _hell_ yes!” Deacon turned to look at Mac, the sniper having one of the widest grins he’d ever seen, a found syringe of Med-X in his hand. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“And the wasteland shows some mercy. Let’s get that in her veins and see what else we can do.”

Mac took up her limp arm and very carefully inserted the hypodermic needle into her vein. He pushed the plunger slowly, delivering the medicine a little bit at a time with worry as to how weak she was, and how much she could handle. 

It might’ve been wishful thinking, but he thought she looked better already by the time the needle was empty, and they were setting aside the empty syringe to try and clean what old blood they could from her person, lingering worry on the bandage on her chest and what damage was hiding under there.

She stirred, slowly at first with deeper breaths, a light flutter of her eyelids before just barely cracking one open. Her expression was pained, confused, and her eyes were glazed over with fever, almost sunken into her head.

“Nora, _heeeeey._ Welcome back, beautiful.”

“...M’Cready…?” 

Her voice was a rasp, weak. Mac urged her to take a small sip of water with some help as she watched him with eyes gleaming with fever, uncertain if what she was seeing was real. Her eyes were locked on his face as he smiled. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The clear look of relief on her face didn't go ignored by either of them. Her fingers twitched, but she didn't reach out for him. It probably hurt too much to move going by the wince. _Or_ she was too weak. She looked confused, and he supposed she had a right to. Her eyes left his face to land on Deacon as the older man moved within sight just behind him. 

Deacon felt a lump form in his throat that he couldn’t swallow over. Her face took on an expression of painful want as her eyes locked on his, and the look filled him with such regret he almost couldn't take it.

“... _Deacon…?”_

Mac made some comforting noises of affirmation-- that they were both really there- and threw a look behind himself expectantly while Deacon was rooted to the spot. He gave him a questioning look before the older man moved.

Deacon took half a step and then another until he was also next to her. She winced, weakly spreading her fingers-- like she wanted to reach for him- and he took her hand in his before she'd moved it more than an inch. At the solid weight of it, her eyes pricked with tears, and her voice was filled with anguish and regret of its own as she looked at him.

“... _I’m sorry…”_

“No no, I’m the one who's sorry, okay? I am-- god _I'm so sorry,_ Nora.” He spoke over the lump in his throat, squeezing her hand and feeling pricks of tears in his own eyes. He got down to her level, pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and tried-- _tried_ \- to impart how damn sorry he was into the gesture. “We’re gonna get you fixed up and take you home, okay gorgeous? We're all gonna go home together.”

“...I got hurt…” she whimpered simply, voice pathetic in exhaustion and nothing of the woman they both knew. She was severely weakened-- dehydrated maybe, definitely sick- and it showed in body and spirit both.

Mac drew her attention at the sound Deacon made in his throat; something so poignant and pained itself that it struck something in the merc. Someone had better be damned optimistic here or they'd all drown. “Hey now, nothing we can't fix, boss. You'll be up ordering us around in no time, right Deacon?”

Mac shot a sideways look at Deacon again for agreement, but she was weakly tugging Deacon’s hand to her chest, particularly the bandage she’d put there. She whimpered and winced at her slight movements, everything hurting and more sensitive because of it.

“...Dee… take it off…”

Deacon’s hand hovered over the old bandage, stomach dropping in fear over what gore might be just below. He’d have to bare her, he realized, but it was nothing either of them had never seen before, and hardly anything to get excited over with the pain she was in. She needed help and care, and they were going to provide it.

“Do--” Deacon had to stop a moment to clear his throat and overcome the fear and guilt trying to take control. He looked at MacCready. “Do we have enough to rebandage that?”

The sniper stood and gathered up what meagre supplies they’d managed to collect. “Yeah… yeah it’s okay, I think.”

Deacon took a deep breath as his heart pounded in his rib cage, knowing he was about to cause her severe pain. She gasped as he gingerly removed the bandage as gently as he could, parts sticking to her skin that required extra care in removal. A muttering of Mac’s name had the sniper holding her outstretched hand, and she gripped it with more strength than she thought she had. She made weak noises of pain as Deacon peeled it off, even that small of movement too much to take in her weakened state. 

She hissed as the wounds were exposed to the open air, whimpers and bodily twitches as if she hoped to get away from the feeling, but was too weak to do so. Her breathing quickened, the pain winding her, and she grimaced against it. They both quickly inhaled in shock as they saw the extent of her injury, the bandage gone and horror left in its wake.

Gashes. Large ones under her left breast to mid-sternum, deep enough to need stitches but superficial enough she hadn't yet bled out. Probably made by the hands of the deathclaw in pieces at her front door. They were crusty with old blood, the edges red and angry with infection, and they could see bright crimson where the wounds had reopened, leaking down angry-looking skin. The surrounding area was green and yellow with damage. 

Whatever had happened to her had not been at all kind.

It occurred to Deacon that she hadn’t been here for _hours,_ or even _hours and hours,_ but more like a day or two, maybe even _more_ upon looking at the state of the injury. Her speed and persistence must've gotten her halfway there by the time Deacon realized she was gone and gathered Mac back in Sanctuary. The feelings that drove her to push herself so hard, through a hell of a hangover as well, must have been powerful indeed.

He was the _biggest_ asshole this side of the commonwealth.

“We’re gonna fix you up, gorgeous, okay? Good as new and twice as shiny,” Deacon promised with false cheeriness to cover the fear.

There were tears of pain in Nora’s eyes, but his words got a twitch of her lips in a smile that turned to a closed-eye grimace as another lance of pain went through her. He carefully stroked his hand over her hair to comfort while he stared at the wound, glad she couldn't see his eyes for the worry in them. 

“...it hurts… bad.”

“We’ll make it better, okay?” 

MacCready was gently inspecting the wound-- not easy at this angle as she was still on her side- thinking to what they had on them and what they could use, and how much time they had before this became a life and death situation… if it wasn't one already.

They didn't have a whole lot of wiggle room to screw up.

“Deacon…” Mac’s voice was gentle as he interrupted the older man’s soft reassurances to Nora, a serious look on his face. “It's definitely infected. And she needs stitches… And a few dozen stim packs wouldn't hurt either.” He hoped the infection wasn't bad enough stim packs wouldn't fix it, but honestly with how weak she was, and how the wound looked, he wasn't optimistic.

“I don't… I don't have any,” Nora whined out, feverish eyes on Mac’s face as she squeezed his hand still.

“Don't worry, we’ll take care of this, okay? We've got you.” He gave her hand a pat with the one she wasn’t holding, scared about being able to deliver on that statement. He offered her tired eyes a smile before turning his gaze back to Deacon. Though he couldn't see the other man's eyes, he knew they both understood the severity of the situation they were in.

Heated water was set up to cleanse the wounds, and they tried to find _anything_ else that might help them in their endeavors now that they knew what they were dealing with. Nora, unfortunately, had nothing to offer herself, her labored, pained breaths she tried to hold in against gasps as they gently tried to clean her up as best they could.

It wasn’t easy as she laid on her side, trying her best not to move.

“We need to move you to your back, boss,” Deacon told her with a frown, gut churning with guilt, regret, and all kinds of unfathomable things as she looked up at him with pained but trusting eyes. It was almost too much.

“...it's… that's really gonna _hurt_ …” she got out, still curled into herself and not having moved much from that position even as they fussed over her.

“We’ll handle it, you just try not to move,” Mac promised, a gentle hand on her shoulder just barely touching, too scared to accidentally hurt her somehow.

“...fuck..,” she whimpered, eyes screwed tightly shut as she knew just what she was in for. She squeezed her arms against herself as tight as she could bear in order to pin her breasts, knowing the tug on her skin was going to hurt worse than a motherfucker. “...o-okay… do it fast…”

They were super gentle as they figured out their plan of attack, wadding up one of the rad suits to position behind her to ease the movement just a bit. She unfurled her legs first, with plenty of wincing, hissing, and whimpers as even such unrelated movement tugged at her skin. She was scared, and said as much, but they promised they’d go easy as possible and fix her right up. And she trusted that.

They went slower than she might have liked, the pain being drawn out, but honestly it was probably better considering the state of her. She knew she'd lost a _lot_ of blood already, dizzy with the sound of her own heart in her ears, and she couldn't stand to lose much else. 

“Easy now… easy,” Mac’s voice was soothing, easy to focus on as they tried to turn her, fear of further ripping her skin wide open prevalent in their minds.

“Wait- wait a minute,” Deacon said quickly as he realized an immediate problem. “Hey boss, gonna need you to hold these down better for us, okay?” He tried for a smile he didn't entirely feel as it became apparent that the weight of her breast tissue was going to tear the wounds right back open once the angle changed. It was so close to her heart too. He was scared shitless that they might make it worse.

She huffed in pain, giving him a pleading look as her breaths already came faster. “...just do it, Deacon… I can't- I can't _move_ …” Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, the pain in her voice something awful.

Deacon gave Mac a determined sort of look. He wasn't going to have both hands free to help move her. “Can you help turn her more?”

“I'm on it. Let's get this done, man.”

He mostly helped keep her arms in place on her chest as they were working well enough as a pressure bandage, a large hand keeping everything still as he and MacCready worked together to get her on her back. It was probably one of the least arduous tasks in the world, but her pain made it one of the most difficult even as she took comfort in his touch. 

She gasped in pain, shrieks leaving her as they maneuvered her. She was gasping for breath, tears leaking down the sides of her face, and her heart was hammering in her chest as it was more strenuous activity than her body could fully take. Regardless of how delicate they'd been, her wounds were now oozing fresh blood. The movement of her upper body and tension on the skin ate through her. The pain was slicing right through the fever in her brain, but they’d got it done, and tried to comfort her through their own anxiety.

“It's over now, you did it-”

“You're okay-”

“We’ll take it from here alright? You did so good-”

They _tried_ to comfort her for the pain caused, but a new stream of tears left her eyes as she breathed heavily, trying to catch up as it kept hitting her in waves. They each hugged her-- or as close to an approximation they could get in her state- trying to reassure in pressing cheeks to cheeks and kisses to hair and promising her they'd make it all right.

Deacon brought it upon himself to deliver the bad news: that she wasn't out of the woods yet in regards to the pain. “We need to stitch you up, keep that thing closed.”

“...no…”

Goddammit, Deacon felt like the absolute worst, and that fearful note in her voice, the pleading in it… This all could’ve been avoided if he wasn’t such an asshole. “I'm sorry hot stuff, but we don't have stims,” he said regrettably, hand on her tear-wet cheek. He didn't want to stitch her, and not just because of the pain. It was pretty infected, and it needed better cleaning than he felt they could give. A stimpack would fix up that skin just fine, but right now they had to stop the bleeding. The infection wouldn’t even matter if she succumbed to blood loss first.

“We’ll be fast. You know how good he is with a needle, right?” Mac offered, a warm hand on her thigh and wishing _anything_ for just a single stimpack. “I know you can do it, Nora. You’re stronger than any of us.”

“...no… it… it doesn't feel right...”

“You're sliced up like a Christmas ham, boss,” Deacon informed her with no trace of amusement in his voice. “We gotta-- You can’t keep bleeding like this.”

She ignored Deacon’s words, instead taking his hand in her own weak, shaking one. He let her move his hand where she wanted it, directing his fingers to her untorn skin just above her heart. Her voice was strained, full of pain, and eyes threatening to leak tears again as the pads of his fingers touched the solid flesh just below her breast. A squeak of pain left her unbidden. “...there's something… doesn't feel right… _Dee_ …” 

His fingers followed the path the gashes would have been if they were longer, the area she was complaining about not shredded or injured as far as he could tell. He frowned as he felt just below the fatty breast tissue with firm but gentle touches. She shrieked as he encountered something hard, body jolting and nearly coiling into a ball as he quickly removed his hand as if burned.

“....it's that, _that_ …” she gasped, her whole body stiffened and shaking, tears running down her face.

“What is it?” MacCready asked, not seeing whatever it was she was talking about, and looking at Deacon with something close to terror. 

Deacon frowned as he looked at the skin again, trying to be as gentle as possible as he touched it lightly. There was something _in_ there. Something that shouldn't be. And he had only one idea how that had happened. “Did you already stim this, gorgeous?”

She nodded with a whine, face a mask of pain and exhaustion, and it became very, _very_ clear that she’d been hurt _far_ worse than what they were seeing. This was the after effect of a stimpack already done its job, but not strong enough for whatever injuries she'd originally sustained. There was something she hadn't removed before the skin had partially regrown around it. Something he'd have to pull out.

“Deacon… _Deacon,_ what is it?” Mac asked, trying to keep the panic from his own voice, feeling Nora’s pain indicated by how hard she squeezed at the hand he was holding.

“Shit, do we have pliers or forceps or _anything?”_

Mac gave her a gentle pat before messing about and found some nice clean forceps, actually, in the cache of items Virgil kept in a cabinet. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the ex-Institute asshole for being a scientist who was actually _useful._

Deacon held the forceps in his hand, heart thundering in his chest at the gravity of what he was about to do; the pain he'd inflict. Her wounds were still gaping, and what had healed wasn’t _fully_ back to rights. He’d be able to get it without slicing her open, but it was going to be _bad._

“Hold MacCready’s hand, okay? Tight as you want. This is…. I think this might hurt a lot.” It was going to hurt a _whole_ lot if it was what he thought it was, and the fear of leaving it and the further damage it would do was the only thing driving him to inflict the torture he was about to.

“...just do it… do it...,” she said with fear and pain, already squeezing Mac’s hand hard enough to bruise, but the sniper held fast and offered words of support while Deacon tried to mentally distance himself from his task.

Deacon’s hand was warm on clammy skin, holding the surrounding area as firmly but gently as possible, thinking about how out of all the things he'd done in life, the pain he was about to cause her would be one of the worst. 

He chose his point of entry from within one of the gashes, blessedly not at all far from the healed-over skin itself, and gave MacCready a quick glance. The other man’s face was full of worry, but he nodded, ready.

She screamed as he quickly found and removed what he'd suspected-- the broken keratin tip of a deathclaw nail- and she laid there panting and crying and shaking, body immediately going into a cold sweat of shock as Mac cursed a damn blue streak at the size of the thing.

“Holy shit that-- _fuck_ \-- Nora, hey, it's okay, it's over, you did so well, it's over, alright? It's-- _fuck_ you’re a damn champ, it’s all done. We got it-- we got it.” The merc pet her sweat-soaked hair and kissed her temple and squeezed the hand she had a death grip herself on, trying his damnedest to comfort. But her hand went slack in his own, and she passed out from the pain, too weak to endure it. It was probably for the best even if it scared the hell out of them.

He looked up at Deacon, moisture in his eyes, as the other man was trying to figure out what the _hell_ they could possibly do now. Deacon had flung aside the object with disgust, and was pressing warm, wet cloth against the wound to hopefully wet and remove some of the crusted blood while also staunching new flow. This was… it was _bad._

“Don't we have _anything_ we can give her? Not even a-- I don't know-- even a mentat?” Mac asked desperately as he still held and pet her hand, unconscious as she was.

“No,” Deacon answered plainly, blocking out everything else except the need to finish what they’d started. “Give me your kit, we need to get these wounds closed right now while she's out.”

They worked quickly together, just trying to get the bleeding under control and buy her more time. Mac didn't have the best field kit for doing as many stitches as she needed, but they managed what they could, and rebandaged her after getting her cleaned up. Things were under control for the moment, though she was still unconscious from the shock. They kept her warm under old blankets in a trunk, each breathing hard with adrenaline and helpless over what to do.

Both men were sweaty, scared, and covered to some degree in her blood. She wasn't going to last the night at this rate, and they were about as far from anything friendly as one could possibly be. Might as well be on the moon for all the good it did them.

Deacon was scared. He was actually, legitimately terrified, and that made it dangerous; risky. There was no clear course of action that somehow involved just waiting this out in the cave. She needed stims _now,_ and he could only think of one place they might get them. “Didn't you say those Atom nuts had a settlement out here?”

“Yeah,” MacCready agreed with a deep set frown already on his face as he caught the older man’s meaning, “and they tried to _kill us_ last time we were there, so don't even try it. We can't go there.”

“Probably because you're too blasphemous in his divine light,” Deacon mocked with a half smirk, a hand on Mac’s bicep with a look at Nora. “I'm going to pay them a visit.”

“ _Deacon-”_

“You can't do it; they know you. And me? Heh, I'm charming as hell. Just another lost soul looking for his divine mercy or whatever. And if they don't like how charming I can be, well, I'll just requisition what we need.”

They were between a rock and a hard place, and it twisted the younger man’s gut in fear. They’d had enough close calls _together_ out there. “You can't go out there _alone,_ Deacon. What if--”

“She can't be _left_ alone, MacCready.” Deacon gave Mac’s shoulder a squeeze even as he felt sick about the entire thing. He kept his hand in its new spot, scared on so many levels he _needed_ the support of the other man; needed to know he was there. “I'll be back as soon as I can, okay? Hopefully sooner. I’ll get what we need.” _Just keep her alive._

“You better,” Mac threatened reluctantly, swallowing heavily and hating that he had to do this. He'd rather go himself, knowing the area better. But Deacon’s whole schtick was being stealthy and unseen, and those Atom assholes _were_ most likely to have a cache of stims. Maybe it would be okay.

“Wanna give me that kiss you owe me just in case I never come back?”

Mac frowned, not at all amused at his joking tone even if the seriousness there belied just how scared the older man was. “You can kiss my ass is what you can do. _Make it back.”_

Mac still gave him a hug regardless, scared himself and knowing that if it came down to it, he wouldn't be able to get them both out of there in one piece if Deacon didn't return. But if the older man stayed, Nora might die. He _had_ to go. And Mac didn't want their last interaction to be harsh words.

He gave him a _real,_ proper hug, one arm around him and the other at the back of the older man's head, pressing him close at every angle and trying not to pass on any of his fear to the spy. 

It wasn't a goodbye hug. It _wasn't._ Even if all he could think of was that this was the last time he was ever going to see Deacon again. 

He let the hug linger longer than necessary before letting the older man go and helping him suit up in the remaining rad suit. Deacon popped more rad-X and was armed with his own supply for entering the mouth of hell those Atom idiots called home. It didn't make Mac happy, but it was the best they could do for Nora.

“See you soon, MacCready.”

“Don't think I won't spill all your secrets if you don't come back. I mean it.”

“Pfft, me? The good ones are never true.” Deacon smiled before grasping Mac one more time. His face was serious as he looked at Nora, her weak body and pallor churning something inside him. “She needs to live, MacCready. Whatever happens--”

“You _are_ coming back,” Mac said stubbornly. “So shut up and hurry up. We’re on a time limit.”

Deacon got one more squeeze out of the sniper before Mac walked with him to the edge of the cave with his rifle. 

He watched Deacon’s back as the older man skirted about the incline and headed north. He watched until Deacon looked like an ant on the horizon, and he watched as the mists of the Glowing Sea swallowed him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand just how this clusterfuck is gonna play out for these three, only time will tell :O Leave a comment if you're enjoying ;D feed my anxious need for validation haha
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rodent verbs and words i chose for certain things Mac does was intentional, and i hope it gives you a snicker if you catch them xD
> 
> Also playing fast and loose with chem-stuff and whatnot xD i'm admittedly not _too_ well-versed with fallout lore, only having played 3 on, but i figure stuff like blood packs and whatnot _gotta_ be synthetic.... otherwise people couldn't use that crap not just in respect to expiration dates, but blood types  >_> anyways, that's my two-cents on the matter xD

It was nerve-wracking watching Deacon leave in the hopes of getting supplies which might not even exist, but it was further maddening to be stuck in this cave without being able to _do_ something.

Nora was out for the count, and hopefully the rest she received was quality because her body was run-down to shit. He’d seen soldiers taken out by less, and everything was riding on _if_ Deacon was able to get a hold of stimpacks and make it back safely.

Those wounds on her chest were _not_ good.

It was the thought of Deacon coming back empty handed-- or not at all, which he _refused_ to dwell on- that spurred him to search every _inch_ of the cave. 

MacCready busied himself going through every nook, cranny, and corner inside that cave to find _something_ that might help her. Virgil had been mutated when he’d come down here, yeah, but that didn’t mean the man hadn’t come prepared. The research equipment was a good example of that. Maybe he had something tucked away they’d missed in their fervor to help.

The trunks were the first thing he’d emptied out, laying everything on a workbench to mentally catalogue what they had to work with. The toolboxes also lacked anything they needed, unless he wanted to upgrade his rifle. What he needed was _medicine._ It was aggravating, and every look back at Nora made a sick drop of concern wrench his stomach.

Upending her own pack had yielded similar results to his own: a lack of anything they needed right now, and all the junk she normally liked to grab for reconstituted building supplies. _Worthless crap,_ by his definition. The thought of how she'd roll her eyes at him for even thinking such a thing made him smirk a moment.

He huffed to himself and chose to cool down the cloth on her forehead again, the heat from her fever making it warm to his touch. It was a little thing, but it was _something_. He wished they were back at any of her settlements with a network of help at their fingertips. Some stimpacks, med-X, a decent doctor who knew what they were doing… And all Mac had to work with here was a wet cloth.

There was no dignity in this for her. Not after what she'd done for _everyone._

Laying on what was arguably called a mattress, in the middle of the Glowing Sea, in a freaking _cave_ dying of infection and fever was no way for the woman who liberated the Commonwealth to go.

A shudder went through him at such thoughts, and he dropped a kiss on the top of her hot forehead and whispered for her to fight, worry threatening to drown him. This was the same worry he'd felt over Duncan. The same uncertainty and helplessness while he'd tried to get to the cure-- something _she'd_ helped him with, and god how he wanted to return the favor. 

She was weak and pale, unconscious under the blankets they'd scrounged up. She needed medicine. Not even super-rare hard-to-find medicine. And food too, if she'd been laying there getting weaker as long as they suspected. The former he couldn’t do anything about, but the latter he could work on.

She’d need something substantial to help get her strength back, but they were far away from radstag stews and brahmin-butter bread. What in the hell had that ex-Institute scientist kept himself going on out here?? 

There was cave fungus growing on one of the back walls, and of all the things he could've found, there was nothing else in the wasteland he knew how to prepare better. But that was hardly enough to really give her body a fighting chance.

...He still had some radstag jerky that he could try and rehydrate. And some glowing fungus he'd shoved into his pack before they'd headed into this irradiated hell. But she'd need something more substantial than that.

Then he remembered something and felt so damn stupid he didn't know why he didn't think before:

There was an annihilated deathclaw _right_ outside the cave opening. A couple days old maybe, but the creatures were tough, and their mutated meat was forgiving to the elements; high enough heat and it would be just fine for them to eat. He’d eaten worse when times were hard. It might be just what the doctor ordered.

“I’m gonna be just outside, okay? Just right outside. You rest,” he spoke softly, though he knew she didn’t hear him. He rested a hand on her shoulder before looking at her pale face, and then he shouldered his rifle, readied his knife, and approached the cave entrance warily.

It was quiet. Not _too_ quiet, but enough that he knew nothing bigger or nastier than him was around at least. The base of mines laid about the opening were all still perfect, waiting for something stupid to wander close, but he kept his distance and picked about feral corpses until he found what he wanted in a large hunk of headless mutated lizard.

Mac went to work hacking up one of the larger pieces of deathclaw that hadn't been exposed to the irradiated air. The meat was passable-- maybe not the best, but it was nothing he'd risk feeding her if there was even a slight chance of danger- and it would make for a really hearty meal. With a sizeable hunk of bloody meat in his hands, he returned to the cave and got a cooking pot from among the supplies there and filled it with water from the still.

Nora still hadn’t stirred, but that was okay. Gave him time to work, and time for her to rest. 

....A deathclaw stew might work. They didn't have much flavor but it would give her strength, and wouldn't be too hard to eat. Not like the jerky, anyways.

He chopped as small of pieces as he could with his combat knife before chucking it in the pot. He added jerky in the hopes the radstag would provide some flavoring, and fungus to boost the effects. It would be a good wasteland broth. More than enough for all of them once Deacon was back in one piece.

He tried not to think about that.

He was digging around when he felt like such an asshole at his _second_ discovery: Deacon’s ash blossoms. One of the main ingredients for a powerful antiseptic that would destroy the infection causing her fever. He had what he needed to help Nora _right here…_ Take care of that angry red skin aggravating her fever and get her on the road to recovery.

There was only one obstacle between him and his miracle cure however: _he_ didn't know how to make it. _She_ did.

He didn't want to disturb the rest she so sorely needed, but they didn't have a surplus of time here. She needed treatment and he needed her help to create it. If he _could_ , it could deal with the infection, bring down her fever, help heal over her damaged skin, _everything_. He didn’t want to even consider the thought that Deacon might come back empty-handed after the hours that had passed already, but it was a good insurance-policy otherwise.

“Nora… Hey there… Wake up, boss,” he said gently, ever-so-slightly kneading at her shoulder to try and get her to rouse. “Come on beautiful, open those eyes for me. I need your help.”

Her deep-breathing became more shallow as she surfaced towards consciousness, and the grimace that replaced her sleeping-frown told him she was awake-- and in pain. She cracked one eye just slightly open, the very picture of exhaustion as it took a few moments for her to focus on his face.

“Hey there sweetheart,” he greeted as softly as possible, the expression on her face the epitome of discomfort. “I need you to tell me how to turn these things into medicine.” He held the ash blossoms Deacon had scavenged on a whim, ever grateful at the older man's sense of whimsy. “We can make you better. You just need to tell me how.”

She felt dizzy, delirious, and tried to grasp thoughts just out of her reach, groping for the sniper as if he could ground her. Her chest felt like it was on fire, the whole area oddly throbbing. She wasn't positive she was actually awake right now. “Mac….”

He held her hand; pressed a kiss to the back of her clammy palm. “Come on, I know you can do this. What do I need to do?”

She frowned to herself, his words entering and leaving her mind as quickly as sand through fingers. She tried to focus on what it was he was saying. Everything was hot and she was dizzy; confused. “...I don’t… what?”

“Ash blossoms,” he said, holding them in her field of vision. “Medicine. What do I do?”

He wanted something, but she couldn't hold on to the _what._ She kept forgetting what he wanted, the tug of sleep pulling at her, and the heat of fever was making her whole body sting. She felt like she was missing something here. She wasn't sure she knew what it was though. Someone else might know. “...is Deacon here?”

Mac felt his ears get hot. “Yeah, yeah he’s here, boss. Right around the corner. We’re gonna make you better.”

“...it… it hurts.”

“I know, I know.” His voice was a gravelly sound, the fact that she was in pain and he could do so little frustrating beyond belief. “I need you to tell me how to make medicine out of these.”

Her eyes closed, and for a moment he thought she’d fallen back unconscious, but something must’ve finally penetrated the fog in her brain because she muttered out something so simple he felt like a moron. “...pipboy… check the pipboy.”

Stupidity aside, Mac felt eternally grateful that she felt the need to record and write down everything and anything she got her hands on. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and retrieved the device. The recipe for the antimicrobial made from the blossoms of the plant was right there… but he didn't have all the ingredients, and it was a long shot from hell that he’d get his hands on them.

“ _Fuck.”_ He turned his head as he heard her murmur, and she was looking at him with one barely-open eye. Coherent enough to know he shouldn't be cursing, it seemed. “Sorry…”

Her lips twitched at the corners almost to a smile before closing her eyes again. He re-wet the cloth for her head and dabbed at her face once more. She was out again already, getting weaker. It scared him to desperation and frustrated the hell out of him.

He sat as the deathclaw stew cooked, considering his options and the blossoms in his hand. He only needed an item or two as the catalyst for that recipe; it was the blossoms themselves that had the antimicrobial properties. He could cut it with buffout maybe? A bit of the powerful steroid should help with the inflammation. He needed something to activate the effects of the ash blossoms. It _might_ work. 

God he really didn’t want to take chances though, she was so weak.

He looked at Nora and back to the stupid blossoms in his hands. Where in the hell was he going to get the plants for this shit when nothing else grew in this hellhole?

...there were feral corpses outside. They usually had _something_ useful on them, in pockets before they’d turned. He hadn't bothered checking before, and neither had Deacon. It was a longshot, but it was the only one he had.

He made his way outside yet again, hoping against hope for some goddamn _mercy_ as he carefully picked around the frag mines to roll the corpses.

Black eight ball. Silver locket. Hairbrush. All worthless crap he couldn't use. A wave of terror crested in him a moment-- just a moment- that neither of them would find anything to save Nora. That Deacon would come back empty-handed, or not at all, and Nora would die on his watch. It passed quickly, as swift as a punch to the gut, and he kicked a piece of deathclaw as hard as he could, sending it soaring out into the glow and landing somewhere beyond his sight.

He continued going over the other corpses, tossing aside a tin can, a fork, another locket, and a burnt comic that he couldn't even read to distract himself. When his hand encountered something softer-- liquid in a solid membrane- he quickly let go with a disgusted sound. Turning the burnt feral’s corpse over though, he felt the breath stolen from him in absolute relief.

A blood pack. One of those synthetic pre-war blood packs. Sealed, pristine, and waiting for his use. He snatched it before scurrying back to the cave and Nora’s side. _Finally,_ a freakin’ break.

He hung the blood pack up and freed an arm from under the blankets. She barely even stirred as he put the needle in. Red flowed down through the tubing and into her arm, and he watched for the next hour, holding her hand and whispering to her that she was going to be better.

No doubt about it, she _looked_ better already. And he was about ninety-percent sure that wasn't just wishful thinking on his part.

Her skin had slightly more color to it, and her breathing seemed less labored. He still needed to make sure that that blood stayed put in her body though-- not leak out from stitched skin- and that meant her wound needed to be _properly_ closed. 

Infected skin wouldn't do it on it's own; the stitches were temporary at best, just to stop the blood loss. He needed to figure out this ash blossom recipe so her skin could actually begin to heal up and close on it's own. If-- _When_ Deacon came back, they could give her stimpacks to deal with it. For now, though, he needed to take action.

MacCready set to work at the chem station to hopefully get this antiseptic stuff right. He didn't have all the necessary ingredients, but he had a good amount of them. He ended up cutting it with a small amount of buffout, adjusting the ratios with the help of Nora’s pipboy as he ground and heated materials. He’d seen her make the stuff once or twice, and tried to go off memory and visuals as he completed the formula.

It was a thick paste, but it smelled right. It wasn't his first time cooking up chems, but it was something more complicated, especially with his substitutions. As long as it got the job done though, he didn’t care.

He considered waking her-- warning her before applying it- but considering the fact her skin was still _open,_ and that that might cause further pain, then if she could sleep through things, that would be best.

He slathered the thick grey paste over the angry red stitches, her skin breaking out in goosebumps where the coolness of it hit her skin, but she didn't rouse. He got a nice thick layer on, replacing a clean bandage and tucking her back in with the scratchy blanket. He dabbed at her hot face again and wished beyond wish for her fever to break and the antiseptic to do its thing.

Okay, so far so good. He'd let it soak in a bit before applying anymore.

Now… to see if desperation wouldn't help him a second time.

He gathered up the bent and broken hypos from Deacon’s pack, deciding to make good on an errant thought... 

They had a perfectly good syringe leftover from the med-X. And the liquid was still present in one of those bent hypos. No good it would've done to slather it on her skin, but if he could get it into the other hypo, and get the liquid circulating in her veins….

He spilled about half of it trying to get it through the reservoir, the contents pressurized and his hands feeling too clumsy for such delicate work. The other vials were shattered glass and liquid both, totally useless, but the extracted stuff from the bent hypo might work. He ended up with almost half a stimpack, and with what they were dealing with now, it was worth its weight in gold.

Another needle in her vein opposite the near-empty blood pack, and he was plunging the serum into her bloodstream with all his hopes and prayers. 

This would work. It _had_ to work. 

Hypo empty, he set her back to rights and checked on the soupy concoction boiling away. Pretty much done. He wished they had carrots or something else, but it smelled good, so it would have to do… just let it cool enough for her to be able to drink. And that meant more _waiting._

Thirty minutes later he was scooping a ceramic bowl inside the pot, moving the contents about to get some chunks in it, and removed it to wipe down the sides. No silverware in sight, but that was okay. Probably better to have her sip it anyways, too weak to properly hold a spoon.

He was quiet as he approached, gently removing the now-empty bloodpack and rousing Nora with soft words and gentle touch. She responded a lot quicker than previous attempts.

“M’cready…?” she murmured tiredly, sleep-addled eyes blinking at him as he gently grasped her shoulder.

“Hey beautiful, think you can stand to eat something for me?”

“...What?” She rubbed at her eyes weakly before looking back at him. The movement immediately gave him hope; something normal that meant his crappy doctoring was working; that she wasn't in as much pain as before.

“I made a stew outta that deathclaw outside. It's a little gamey but it'll give you your strength back.”

“...Is that… That’s what I’m smelling?” Mac made a face before she tried to locate the source of the scent. She was actually starving, and it didn't feel like broken glass to try and move. “...smells good.”

“Yeah?”

She managed a small, tired smile, tugging the blanket off herself as she felt entirely too hot. “Yeah, actually.” She looked down at herself with concern, chest feeling heavy under the bandage pressed into her skin. She could smell astringent. “...what's on me?”

“Some antiseptic paste I cooked up… I'll change it out after you eat.”

She relaxed back a moment, eyes closed, voice tired. “...not even the... weirdest thing I’ve woken up to…” She opened her eyes back up, amusement shining in her there that actually got a half-smile from Mac. Good mood _and_ good humor. Things were looking up.

She reached out for his hand, and he took it automatically, giving her a squeeze. “So… How do you feel? How’s your chest?”

“I'm-- it's really hot…” She tried to kick the blanket further away. He re-wet the cloth he kept dabbing at her with, giving her forehead a few gentle wipes which she hummed at.

“You've still got a fever,” he informed, bringing her hand to his face and giving her knuckles a reassuring kiss. She splayed her fingers to cup his cheek, and he leaned into the gesture and gave her palm a little kiss too. It made her smile as he took her hand back between his own, gently stroking his thumb across the back of her palm. The sheer _relief_ running through him right now was palpable. It gave him hope. 

The paste he’d put on her wasn’t causing her further pain, at least, and he was grateful for that. She was still weak, but coherent enough for full sentences was definitely an improvement. “If we get some food in you, maybe it'll do some good. Uh… You probably shouldn't sit up though,” Mac told her. “You can lean against me if you want.”

“Yeah...” she said as she tried to lift herself not without trouble. 

Mac’s eyes were worriedly on the paste-covered area covered by gauze, of which was close proximity to her naked breasts, and her eyes met his a moment before he realized he'd been looking, and furthermore was _caught_ looking, even though he didn't mean to, really, but he felt heat in his face. His concern was primarily for her wellbeing; he didn’t want her thinking he was a weirdo.

She gave him a tired, uncaring smirk, seeing his guilty-pink cheeks. “...It's just boobs, honey. Nothing you haven't seen before.”

“It's not _just_ boobs, it's _your_ boobs,” he pointed out.

She lightly snorted as he averted his gaze out of politeness, but she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “...I've dug shrapnel outta your asscheek... remember?” She smiled at the way his lips twisted in reminder. “I think it's safe to say… we're close… You don't need to feel weird around me.”

More heat entered his cheeks at those warmly spoken words, and he wanted nothing more than to hug the life out of her and for her to be okay. He gave her hand a little squeeze instead, giving her a sort of sly look in return. “...I was _trying_ to be polite.”

“...you don’t need to be,” she said with a tired grin. “Or do... if it means you'll help me sit up.”

“Shi- _shoot,_ sorry,” he said as he put the bowl of deathclaw soup within reach and helped her to a more upright position, cheeks still hot but not really concerned. 

She was breathing hard with the exertion, hands shaking with weakness as she used his thigh to make herself more comfortable. A few gasps of pain left her as they moved her, mixed with mutterings of apologies from Mac as he tried to do most of the work himself. They eventually settled into a sort of lean that didn't pull tension on her skin, and it took a few moments for her to catch her breath. When she did, she looked directly upwards at Mac’s face above her with a little smile. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” he said with a grin down. She turned her attention back to the waiting bowl with interest, and he carefully reached for it to help her drink the soup inside. He thought it was in need of seasonings, but she didn't comment on it, drinking slowly and chewing the odd chunk of deathclaw meat. It was exhausting, but her stomach growled through the small feast, and it was satisfying beyond measure.

When she'd finished it, he put the bowl down and put his hand over her forehead, checking her temperature. Still hot, but eating hot food was going to have that effect. Her body needed it. 

He stroked her hairline as she laid against him, breathing heavily. “You want more?”

“Not right now… Just… stay here.” She relaxed back into him, enjoying the pressure of his hand on her forehead. Just like her mother had done for her, and probably how Mac did for his boy when he was sick. 

He should _be_ with his boy right now; bringing him back to the commonwealth like he'd planned. Instead, he was out here in this radiated hell she'd decided to run away to. The thought made a swell of guilt rise up in her.

“...MacCready?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry…”

He gave a pause, removing his hand from her head. “Sorry?”

“...you shouldn't have had to come all the way down here… You've got Duncan to think about and--”

“No.” He cut her off, thinking on what Deacon had told him, and thinking on everything she'd done for the entire damn commonwealth. No, no blame for anything should be on her. 

It wasn't her fault they were down here. Someone should've been with her after the Institute had been destroyed. Someone should've realized that the vault dweller chasing after her son had emerged from the rubble childless. In the relief and excited fervor of the commonwealth’s boogeyman being _destroyed,_ everyone had forgotten the true motivation driving her, and no one had been there to comfort her loss.

He wished Deacon had said something to him sooner. The man was squirrelly as hell, but they were all members of the same team; maybe he could've done something that the other man hadn't been able to at that time. The Railroad had a lot of rescued synths to re-home after all; he must've been stretched a little thin as well. Big times, yeah. But _someone_ should’ve been there for her.

Regardless, they'd all dropped the ball on this one.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb apologetically. “I'm such an assh-- ...ngh… such a _jerk.”_ He looked down at her with determination in his eyes. “Nora… I am so goddamn sorry I wasn't there for you that night. If I could take it back--”

“Mac-”

“No, just, hear me out. After everything you've done for me-- _especially_ after everything you've done for me- I should've been there for you. I didn't even-- _shit_ I wish I'd been there for you.” She squeezed the hand he still held in his one, and he looked at her with guilt and pain in his eyes. She met the look with a soft little smile. “If I’d’ve been there for you, this wouldn't have happened.”

“Mac, honey, it’s not… not your fault I make bad decisions...” she said with pricks of moisture coming to her eyes. “...I'm really glad you're here, though.”

He hugged her as best he could, with care to her wounds and the paste there, his cheek on the top of her head. She patted his arms with her hand, telling _him_ it was okay, as if it was he who needed the comfort. Goddamn. She really was too good for this world. He pressed another kiss to the top of her head and stroked her shoulder gently. He wished they could take all of this back. “If uh… if I knew you were gonna come down here again, I would've tried to talk you out of it in the first place.”

She offered him a smile, angling her head to really look at him. There was a regretful sincerity in his eyes, so keen it made her hurt, and she leaned back into him instead of looking further. “It might've worked too...” She closed her eyes, talking making her tired. “...I’m sorry. I… I asked Deacon to tell everyone bye for me...”

Mac gave a little snort. “And he dragged me down here instead.”

She angled her head towards him again, her heart picking up speed in confusion. “He’s… here?”

“Yeah. Yeah he just stepped out a minute,” he said, not wanting her to worry in the ways that was already twisting his own stomach in knots. She didn't need _that_ on top of everything else. They both knew how deadly the Glowing Sea was.

“... _he's really here?”_

The whine in her voice-- like she was trying to keep it from wavering, hold it together- struck something in him. He gave her another hug and pressed another comforting kiss to the top of her head. He kind of wanted to give Deacon a good kick in the pants. It was pretty damn clear that she needed to hear how Deacon felt about her-- something that was obvious enough to him to tease the older man about. But even for his teasing, it wasn’t Mac’s place to do so. “You bet, beautiful. He woke _me_ up to come find you as soon as _he_ couldn't find you.”

“I thought… fever dream…”

Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes, and he held her and told her it was okay; that they'd get her out of there and go far away from any assholes trying to make her do stuff for them. Somewhere _safe_ and not-radiated, where she could do whatever she wanted and live whatever kind of life she wanted and not have to hike halfway across the ‘wealth doing the bidding of others. 

“You've given enough for the commonwealth, and they don't need to take anymore from you. We-- well, I mean, whatever _you_ want- but we can make it happen.” She made a sound almost like a sob, and he held her just a bit tighter, wishing he could make her feel better. “You don’t have to come all the way out here to be left alone. Screw everyone else.”

Nora nodded, not trusting her voice. Such an idea was impossibly tempting. She still hadn't even had time to process everything that had happened; all the things she'd done. ...how she even felt about leaving her flesh and blood down there to the rubble in the monstrous cult he'd lead, cancer taking him before he could know the taste of her betrayal. 

After everything, and the things she’d done, a vacation away from everyone and anything would be like something out of a dream. 

Deacon must’ve told Mac _some_ of the things she'd told him, even if he hadn’t told everyone goodbye like she’d hoped. The idea that he’d actually taken up after her after she’d slipped away that night… It gave her hope for things she didn’t feel she could voice, and that she wanted _desperately._

Maybe it was a little naive, but she’d hoped one of them would have made a move by now-- said something that cemented things between them a bit more than casual flirtation- so she wouldn’t have to make a choice. The world she'd crawled out of the vault and fallen into was full of a lot of heartache, but a lot of new love as well. She felt love in her heart for both of them, but such things were kept behind closed doors two-hundred years ago. 

But the commonwealth was a different place from the one she knew pre-war. Maybe she didn’t have to choose; maybe both knew, and were okay with it. That's how it seemed, anyways.... Or her fever was skewing her judgment.

MacCready was anything but unobservant himself, and Deacon, smarmy bastard, hid himself behind lie after lie after lie to cover up truth, but she had been so sure things were _mutual_ between them. And they weren’t _blind._ That Deacon would have dragged _MacCready_ of all people down here didn’t strike her as coincidence at all. 

At least, she _hoped._ There were a lot of things she wanted to say-- a lot of apologies as well- when she had the energy. Mostly, she just wanted _them_. The comfort of Mac at her back and his arms around her… it was a hard-to-quantify relief. 

She could’ve easily fallen asleep right there, half-leaned against him. Eating made her _extremely_ tired, and Mac would've been content to let her rest against him if he didn't get up to get her some water. After that though, sitting next to her and holding her hand, she fell back asleep listening to his voice.

Mac realized she'd stopped acknowledging the things he was saying, and sighed in relief. 

She was okay. She was _going_ to be okay, he was sure. She had to be.

He wanted to call Deacon back. He wanted him to get back to safety; back to _them_ , and get them all the hell out of there somehow. She’d had half a stimpack now, plus the synthetic blood, and even eaten. She was definitely stabilizing. He wanted Deacon _with_ them.

Counting the hours and hoping Deacon was still alright, Mac went about cleaning off the layer of paste he'd put on her skin. The infected areas looked good in his opinion. The red was out of it a great deal, inflammation mostly gone. He might not have had all the ingredients, but his improvised antiseptic formula seemed to be working its magic.

He was just about to apply more of the thick paste when Mac heard noise from the entry of the cave. He perked up with excitement only a moment before experience had him grabbing his rifle. 

Couldn’t be Deacon. The older man was such a loud smartass that he wouldn’t have entered the cave without saying _something_ snarky. But it couldn’t be an animal either, as the mines out front were still live, and he hadn’t heard any explosions. 

Which meant one thing: someone with enough foresight to successfully navigate the layer of frag mines had discovered their little hideaway. 

A courser that had been topside when the Institute was blown to hell? A remnant from the Brotherhood of Steel come to settle the score after they’d blown the Prydwen sky high? He couldn’t think of anyone else who might make it through the hellscape of the Glowing Sea unscathed. Or who else would possibly come out here of all places, looking to settle a score.

Mac took a knee, rifle up and aimed at the corner. His fingers twitched as he heard steps in the long entryway of the cave. He'd need to make a headshot to make it count, even with the turrets there slowly whirring at the ready.

Deacon shuffled into view around the corner and Mac immediately jerked his gun to the side in shock.

“Deacon! Dammit man, I almost took your head off!”

The spy was breathing hard. His suit had a rip in it, and he stumbled down the gentle incline, catching himself at the last minute. Mac immediately helped him, wrapping an arm around his waist to support the other man as Deacon hissed, worse for wear.

“...honey, I’m home...”

“That is _not_ funny,” Mac muttered. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” His helmet had a spiderweb of impact damage in the glass, but it was still intact. There was no blood that he could see, but that didn’t mean the other man had returned unscathed.

“My pride is pretty bruised, I gotta say,” Deacon said with a queasy smirk. “You don’t wanna know what I had to do for _these,_ ” the older man said with a grin from inside his helmet as Mac helped him sit. Deacon produced three stimpacks. Not a huge haul, considering, but it was the motherload as far as Mac was concerned.

“That's-- _Thank goodness.”_

“We- we should give them to Nora ASAP, MacCready...”

“Hey, just sit down a second. You can barely stand and your suit’s ripped. What happened? Did you have to fight?”

“...I fell down the stupid crater is what happened…” he said, not feeling very cool at all for that embarrassing stunt. “Right in front of those Atom weirdos too. I thought I could play it off like I was their god from on high buuuuut I’ve never heard a god say the things I did… and so gracelessly too… _heh…”_

“So… are you actually hurt anywhere?”

“Nothing new. I kind of soaked up a _lot_ of rads though. Like a loooot. Am I glowing? I feel like I’m glowing. Probably looks pretty cool on your end.”

He looked sick, is what the sniper thought. Mac was removing the helmet for him, and the clear view of Deacon’s skin confirmed that he had radiation sickness. He'd need to be dosed to clear that up. “Did the rad-X not work?”

“Not for what I fell into. And by the time I realized a rock ripped my suit… well. We uh, we’ve got duct-tape, right?”

Duct-tape might create a halfway-decent seal in a jam but it still wasn’t the best option.

“You need radaway, not duct tape.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just, get this in Nora’s veins first, yeah?” He held up the stimpacks again, and his hand was shaky, but his only concern was for Nora. “How is she?”

“Doing better. A lot better. I found a blood pack on one of the ferals outside; gave her the whole thing.” Nora hadn't stirred since Deacon had stumbled in despite the fact, and they weren't exactly talking the softest either. Deacon pointed that out. “Yeah I, uhhh… got her to eat. She’s kind of in a food coma right now, but uh, optimistic.”

“Oh… that's great. She still needs this for the fever though.” He held out his hand again insistently with the stimpacks, and the sniper took them, planning to put one to use at the site of the injury itself.

Mac grabbed a pair of scissors from Virgil’s workbench before he gently peeled back the blanket again. Nora didn't so much as stir. He watched her as he carefully removed the stitches Deacon had done before treating the area with the needle. It felt like a luxury to have an entire stimpack to use, and he was grateful as he watched her skin knit together like there hadn’t been gaping wounds there. There was still the faint lines of scarring, the injury having been left alone for too long, but it was done, and she wouldn't be disfigured. He used the entire thing anyways, knowing it would work its way through her system to eradicate the fever. She'd probably feel like a million bucks later.

Mac gently retucked the blanket about her. He spared a glance at Deacon. The older man was leaning heavily on his elbows perched on his knees, head down and focused on the ground. He looked exhausted. The sniper refocused his attention on the other man.

“Come on. Let's get that off and give you some radaway. Don't need you sick on me.”

Deacon hissed as he tried to peel the suit off himself, the movements pulling and straining muscles which had _really_ started to hurt.

“Yeeeeah… you’re gonna need to take this off me yourself… I can’t really bend that way right now. Haven't been able to for a few hours, actually,” he half-laughed. “...Consider it practice for when you can’t keep your hands off me.”

“Ha- _ha_ ,” MacCready said with a sarcastic laugh. He helped Deacon get his arms out of the sleeves with some effort, making snarky remarks about Deacon’s age as the older man hissed at him and told him to be _gentle_ as the suit was bared to his waist. Mac’s sarcasm left him when he actually saw what the skin peeking out the bottom of Deacon's sleeves looked like, biceps not immune to the fall he'd taken earlier. Deacon was badly, _badly_ bruised. “ _Shit.”_

“Swear jar… _Hey_.” Deacon turned his head with a wince where MacCready was already lifting the back of his shirt to just below his shoulders, baring his skin there. “Not that I'm not interested, Creaders, quite the opposite, but is it _really_ the time?”

MacCready ignored the joke as he held the shirt above Deacon’s back, looking at the extent of his injuries with slack-jawed worry. “You’re one big bruise.”

“Am I? Because that’s what it feels like.”

“Like, I think we need to stim this.”

“Don’t waste ‘em,” he said gruffly, eyes darting over to where Nora lay. “Save ‘em for Nora.”

“Deacon… I think you have internal bleeding…” His kidneys in particular worried Mac as he surveyed the vast expanse of the older man's back. The bruises were nearly black in some areas, mottled in others that indicated small ruptures. That Deacon had still been able to stand flummoxed him.

There were two problems here he needed to take care of. He couldn’t give Deacon the radaway for the radiation sickness if his kidneys were damaged along with his skin. It would just make matters worse. He’d need to stim the damage first.

“Look, we have enough right now, for both you and Nora, okay? We need to take care of this or you’re gonna be a liability.”

“No, just-- _JESUS MacCready what the hell?!_ ” Deacon couldn’t help the shouted words as Mac’s fingers probed him. He scooched away from the sniper with wary defensiveness and a sort of kicked-puppy look.

“I barely touched you.”

“Screw you, dude...” Deacon hissed as he tried to get away from Mac and his probing fingers. He gave him a personally-offended sort of look. “What did I ever do to _you?”_

Mac ignored the hurt look he gave him, paying attention to the cause of the _real_ pain. “No, I mean it. You’re _hurt,_ Deacon,” the younger man said without offense from the distrustful looks Deacon sent his way. It looked painful. He gently touched Deacon’s shoulder, lightly trailing fingers over the skin to check for further damage while Deacon hissed and tried to get away. “I'm barely touching you. I mean it. We need to stim this if it hurts that much.”

“Nora--”

“-has had a stimpack and a half now with what you brought,” Mac pointed out. Deacon looked back at him in question. “I was able to salvage part of the broken ones. Stuck it in the med-X hypo we used. _And_ I made a paste with the ash blossoms you grabbed for the infection. She's… She’s really gonna be okay, I think.”

“You… what?”

“Yeah.”

“...so you mean I had to convert to the Children of the Atom for nothing?”

Mac barely smirked but gently got to his knee behind the other man. His hands were gentle on Deacon’s purpled skin. If Deacon was cracking lame-ass jokes, he would be okay, too. “Let me stim it and then we'll give you some radaway. Just stay still, okay?”

Deacon was very vocal on the necessity of so many different injections in so many spots. But Mac watched the bruising of his skin slowly recede as it was mended. He ran his fingers over the healed skin as Deacon squirmed, checking for any abnormally hard spots in case he needed a second dose. Falling on his back and _then_ falling into a damn crater could have hurt him worse than they assumed. Frankly he was still shocked Deacon hadn't made more of a fuss with such an injury.

Mac paused as Deacon squirmed. “Does that still hurt? I could give you another half-dose.”

“Nah, just ticklish.” Deacon turned and gave him a grin. “I wouldn't say no to a massage, though.”

Mac rolled his eyes while getting to his feet and scrounging up their radaway. “We need to figure out a game plan to get out of here. The sooner the better.”

“Sounds good to me.” He lifted his arm for the sniper as Mac produced the bag of amber liquid. He gave him a sort of grin as MacCready set up the IV. “Be gentle, yeah? Don't rock my world too hard.”

Mac snorted, his humor much improved now that things seemed to have finally turned around in their favor. “It's not your first time and definitely not mine. Stay still.”

“An experienced lover, I like it. You get me a promise ring and I'm yours for life.”

“You're not getting _anything_ if you don't stay still,” Mac grumbled as he tried to find a vein. Deacon’s dumb jokes or not, he really didn't want to cause the other man any more pain, and his moving around wasn't helping.

“Wait, so you're saying I have an _actual_ shot? Can I upgrade that kiss to something better? _Ow!”_

Mac knew the needle didn't hurt _that_ bad, but he secured everything and gave the older man a slightly condescending pat anyways. The amber liquid slowly fed into his veins, and the sniper smirked down at the frown Deacon aimed his way. “There. All done.”

“...if that's your idea of _gentle_ when it comes to sticking things in other people then we need to have a serious talk.”

“Don't be such a baby,” Mac muttered as he looked him over. “You hurt anywhere else?”

“Will you kiss it better if I am?”

He snorted. “You're pushing your luck.”

“I'm feeling pretty lucky today. A psychic told me I'd have a great windfall.”

“Yeah, and you took it over the side of the crater.” Mac chuckled at Deacon’s frown. “You're really okay?”

“...everything but my feelings,” Deacon muttered dejectedly, hoping Mac would take the bait.

“Right.”

Deacon grinned. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”

Mac left Deacon and his IV to where he sat and gathered up supplies to make their getaway.

They found Nora’s own radiation suit, cut to ribbons more or less after the damage the deathclaw had done to her. There would be no salvaging it. And Deacon’s own had a rip. They were more or less useless even _with_ a duct-tape hemming.

“Okay, so new plan: we dose the _crap_ out of radaway and rad-X before we leave, and just _run like hell_ out of this shithole and don't stop until we’re back in Sanctuary,” Deacon posed with a grin.

“Yeah right,” Mac snarked at the obvious sarcasm. “I don't think any of us can outrun a deathclaw, and we don't have enough ammo to take on whatever decides to follow us. And she's too weak to walk out of here let alone across the whole damn Glowing Sea.”

“Sooo…. we wait until she's better, and make our new home out here?” Deacon said with a smirk. “I think a few curtains would _really_ liven-up the place. A vase of ash blossoms on the table-- we can put in a breakfast-nook over there-- whaddya say Mackers? Wanna move in with me?”

“Not down here I don't,” he muttered, surveying the cavern and _hoping_ an answer would jump out at them like some deranged molerat. “We can probably stretch that deathclaw outside a few days… enough to get Nora’s strength back.”

“Is that what's cookin’, good-lookin’?”

“Yeah, and if you keep up with the jokes you're not getting any,” Mac warned.

“Who's joking? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Mac turned to say something nasty to him, but Deacon’s face was inquisitive, like he was actually sincere. The sniper wondered just how deep the teasing went, and just how much of it _wasn't_ teasing. Deacon had been making comments like this for months on end now… but the way he looked at him right now...

He decided not to think on it too hard or his stupid face was going to be red forever. He dished out a share of the stew for the other man and passed it over, telling him to shut up and eat while he still paced about the cave.

“...If we can fix the suits somehow then _maybe_ we can walk out of here…” Mac proposed, holding up Nora’s shredded radsuit for inspection. He ignored the yummy-sounds he suspected Deacon was making on purpose to rile him, instead stacking duct tape and other bits and tools together on the workbench. “...pieces from this one could fix yours… Two of us could walk out of here, at least.”

“Nope,” Deacon said with a full mouth. “All of us or nothing. No one's getting left behind.”

That made the sniper grin despite himself, and he refused to look at Deacon at those words, stacking and cataloging their supplies instead.

Deacon finished off the rest of his stew, sitting the bowl aside and watching Mac putter about the workbench a moment before turning his attention back on Nora.

Truthfully she looked _worlds_ better than when they'd found her. The hours in which he'd been gone were kind as hell. Her skin had color, her breathing was relaxed, almost peaceful, and she wasn't covered in a fine sheen of sweat. He'd been so scared she was going to die, and it would be all his fault if she did, but now….

He pet Nora’s head while she slept, musing on all the things he wanted to say, and all the things he _needed_ to say. Apologies for one, and his stubborn feelings for another.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, hoping the rest she got was quality as she laid there. 

He wasn't expecting her eyes to flutter open, or to lock on to his own with such depths of emotion that it almost made his heart stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to popular opinion, writers LOVE getting comments on every chapter, not just whatever's been recently updated :D It's also bitchin' to write rambling, long-winded nonsense if you're having fun reading, and let a writer know what you're actually enjoying :) To take a page out of Mac's book, don't be so used to taking that you don't give now and then ;D You'd be real discouraged to get a two-word comment on a multi-chapter fic after all the hard work you put in, right? Don't do me dirty kids xD
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so floored by the lovely long comments that I wrote an extra long lovely chapter for ya'll xD Feels and ANGST hahah :D
> 
> Keep it up! 20pages 8k words

Nora’s eyes locked on Deacon, and Deacon’s face slowly slid into a smile, his greeting of “ _Heeeeey_ gorgeous” dying on his lips as her eyes immediately began to fill with tears. 

“... _Deacon_...?”

Nora’s previously-peaceful expression began to break, lips stretched in a thin, wavering line as she was trying in vain to hold herself together. Deacon was already gathering her in his arms by the time the sobs started in earnest; pained, raw sounds that shook her and threatened to break him. He barely noticed the IV still in his arm, hissing as he removed it to better hold her shaking form.

Deacon couldn't do anything but apologize at the sound he was acutely aware of being the cause of. He held her close without restraint as she weakly gripped him back. He spoke into her ear, giving each word careful consideration before he spoke as he held her close, hand cradling the mass of her hair.

“Nora, I’m sorry, I'm so, so sorry.”

“Dee--”

“I'm so sorry babe. I super fucked up here. I should've taken you seriously,” he confessed right off the bat. His heart was beating hard in his chest, and feeling the way she shook in his arms… god the only thing he wanted was to let her know what an utter screw up this had been and that he'd never let it happen again. “I-I’m not very good with the whole feelings thing… Shit at it, even… haven't been for a long time, and it scares me to death, boss. I… I…”

He touched his forehead to hers before kissing her skin, words caught in his throat refusing to come out. 

He was frustrated with himself, _needing_ to tell her what she needed to hear-- what was actually the truth- and not even knowing where to start as he got all choked up. He felt moisture prick at the corners of his eyes-- overwhelmed- and swallowed hard, trying to get a hold on himself at how easy it would be to throw _all_ the bullshit away and leave raw truth in its wake, exposing him for what he really was. 

Her name came out as barely a whisper on his lips and he hated that this above all things-- above all crazy, convoluted roles, titles, and things he'd had to say, be, and do- that _this_ was something he _couldn't_ say. Even though it was the thing he wanted to say most in his life and it was tearing him apart. This was a truth that refused to come out. “ _Ffuck,_ Nora, I…” She squeaked out his name, and he held her a little tighter. “I--”

 _I can't live without you, I love you, I want you, I miss you, you're the best thing that ever happened to me, life is better when you're around,_ I’m _better when you're around, I want to spend the rest of my life with you._

All he got out was a choked _“I need you._ ”

Her own voice was also choked, hoarse around the pain of it. _“I need you too_.” She was shaking in his arms, something inside her so _relieved_ and full that she never wanted him to let her go out of fear of losing that feeling. He was _here_. He was actually here. He _did_ care about her the way she'd hoped; it hadn't all been in her imagination.

Deacon had his arms wrapped around her and was kissing her wet cheek and telling her how they'd fix all of this. He'd make up for it. He'd be the best him that he could be. He really would. 

He pet at her, holding her close, making promises he actually intended to keep, and apologies for things not said and done too late. He held her until her sobs had tapered to little hitching breaths. Mostly calmed, he’d thought, until hearing the carefully controlled quiet of her voice. 

“...why didn’t you-- didn’t you-- ….why--”

“I’m an asshole, baby. Little else to it than that,” he explained tiredly, voice full of self-loathing and tightness. “But I’m gonna make it right, okay?” he repeated again. “I’ll make it right, Nora, I promise.”

“...I can't believe you followed me here…”

The fact that he could tell she really _couldn’t,_ just by her reaction, made guilt rise in his stomach. What kind of an asshole had he been that she didn't think he _actually_ cared? Probably thought it was more of his bullshit and lies. Or all an act. He knew it would all come to bite him in the ass one day. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much though. 

His voice was somber; tired. “I’ve been following you a looong time, boss. Why should it surprise you.”

The noise she made was more sob than laugh, and she didn't let him go. He wasn't planning to let her go anytime soon either. She whispered his name a few more times, like she still couldn't believe he was actually there, and he promised he was, and that he wasn't going anywhere.

He had his arms wrapped around her, holding her as he sat there, and looked up with realization. Deacon’s eyes met MacCready’s as he remembered the other man was present for his humbling words, the sniper otherwise pretending to be interested in a roll of duct tape. Mac stood kind of awkwardly to the side to give them space. Not really any privacy to be had in the cave, but the implied courtesy was anything but unappreciated by Deacon. 

A little too courteous maybe for the machinations in his head. 

A quick test-- inviting Mac into the moment with Nora, an implication of intent- had Deacon keep the sniper’s gaze as Mac’s cheeks grew red. “MacCready helped me get down here. Couldn't have found you without him. Almost didn't.”

Mac frowned at his words as his brain tried to analyze what was happening here-- really looking at Deacon for bringing him up- and then the frown deepened thinking back to the incident at the church, and how scared he’d been for the other man. His brain caught up to the fact that he was moving towards them, the inviting hand Deacon had raised already went around Nora, and Mac’s feet carried him to sit on the side of the mattress next to her.

Nora was still quietly sobbing, but as Mac settled next to her somewhat awkwardly, it was only a single look towards him that had the other man opening his arms to her, and she went into them needing even further comfort. Deacon was here, and they were both there to witness it, thus she couldn't be having some fever dream; it was all very very real.

She still kept a hand on Deacon-- as if to make sure he couldn't leave- but she hugged MacCready bodily as he gently comforted her and told her it was alright.

“...Mac…”

“Yeah, I've got ya.” He looked down at her as she pressed close for comfort. He felt a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the way she was clinging to him, and he held her close with a gentle voice for her ear next to his mouth. God, he wanted her to be happy above all things. The pain of the situation cut a little too close to home for him. “It's okay.”

“He's right. Everything will be okay,” Deacon promised with feeling as he leaned in close and rubbed the bare skin of her back. She turned her face in Mac’s chest so she could look at Deacon as he also tried to comfort her. “We’ll handle this together. Just another cool story with a good ending, yeah?”

Her fingers curled into the back of MacCready’s shirt as she tried to keep her voice level. She wanted so much, and they were both here, and she was full of so much regret it hurt almost as bad as the injury that made her sick. She clung to the sniper as her lip trembled, looking at the spy. “Dee… I’m sorry for what I said…”

Mac couldn't help the interested look he shot Deacon’s way-- again, thrust into place in an otherwise intimate conversation in his opinion- but Deacon didn't bother hiding the truth. Mac wasn't going to make fun of him for speaking humbly. He wasn't the type to kick when down. 

“No baby, you-- I was a coward that night. If-- You shouldn't have been alone. Especially after-- ...uh… fuck Nora this is a fucked up situation.”

She actually laughed at the rueful despair in his tone. That summed it up quite nicely in her opinion. This _was_ a fucked up situation. And she was so _so_ relieved they were here with her.

She pulled away a bit to wipe at her face, and then she turned from Mac and back to Deacon for another close-pressed hug. He was surprised just a moment, but held her close against him and pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering apologies still. 

He chose that moment to look at Mac again. Pink cheeks were really cute on the other man, even if he looked kind of uncertain in the situation. It was a learning process, that was to be sure, but he wasn't fighting it. It made something undeservedly happy inside of Deacon. “MacCready, get in here,” he murmured, and Nora turned her head back to look at the other man moments before she was being held by _both._

She started crying again, warm voices enveloping her and offering words and touches of comfort. It was like a balm to raw, frayed nerves, and the closer they held her, the more she cried. 

“It's okay, boss. We’re here for you, okay? Where you go, we go. Point and shoot, that was the deal, right? And way I see it, the wasteland is _full_ of things that still need shooting. I'm gonna be sticking around you for a long long time.”

“...M’cready,” she whimpered into Deacon’s chest before switching again to hug the younger man. He smiled as he held her close, and Deacon stroked her back in comforting circles.

“He's not bullshitting,” Deacon’s voice came to her from the other side. He gave the back of her neck a gentle squeeze as he touched his forehead to her temple. His voice was gruff with emotion, trying to really impart the importance of the things she’d done, and how she’d done _enough_. “The entire commonwealth owes you big time. If you want to get away-- live your own life- ...we can,” Deacon said, deciding on pushing the envelope and testing things a bit more, “Just us three.”

MacCready looked at him again as Deacon had expected he might, but the younger man didn't comment; face pensive, considering the implications of Deacon’s words, but not saying anything. He just returned his attention to Nora and gave her a gentle squeeze in his arms. “Yeah, we can do whatever you want, beautiful. Screw everyone else, remember?”

Deacon raised a brow at that in questioning approval. Whatever MacCready had already talked with her about, it seemed like they were both on the same page. _That_ was intriguing. 

Not that they’d really properly discussed this-- whatever _this_ could be- but even as he felt like the proper asshole that he was, a spark of excitement and anticipation for what _could_ be burned inside him. 

A half-laugh, half-sobbing sound escaped Nora’s throat, and she pressed her forehead into Mac’s shoulder, a hand gripping Deacon’s thigh to show she was listening to him. The sniper pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and she wanted to cry a whole lot more, but choked it back. “...I needed to hear that…”

She could feel little movements as they pressed closer to properly hug and generally comfort her as she kept her head pressed into MacCready’s shoulder, looking down at still-keenly-felt shame. Their voices were a lot more reassuring than she’d ever properly noted, and for a second she wondered how in the hell she’d thought being out here, _alone_ , into the Glowing-fucking-Sea by herself was ever an option. It was stupid to have done so. Stupider that they'd had to follow her to such a place.

“I'm sorry I came down here… it's… _fucked_.”

MacCready frowned. She shouldn't blame herself. She was still grieving. She still hadn't had time to process everything. They weren't there for her before but they were now, and she didn't need to dwell on it. “No one can say shi-- ...ngh… It’s no one’s business what you do, don’t worry about it.”

“...no one’s but yours,” she countered back, trying for humor.

“Got that right,” Deacon told her. Nora lifted her face from Mac’s shoulder, and Deacon could see the streaks of tears and red-rimmed, watery eyes. He promised himself he wouldn’t ever let them get into this kind of a situation again. If he couldn't say something like the goddamn fool he was, he needed to be more demonstrative in how he felt. He pressed his cheek against hers, smirking. “If one of us does something stupid, the other ones can fix it, right?”

Nora gave him a watery smirk. “...you can just say when _I_ do it, Deacon.”

“I wasn’t referring to-- I didn’t mean--”

“Some of us are more stupid than others sometimes,” Mac interrupted Deacon’s quick backpedaling with an easy grin. It actually got shaking-laughter with interspersed sniffles out of Nora, and Deacon gave him a grateful smirk, even for the dig at his expense.

“Mackers is right,” Deacon told her, kissing her cheeks and giving MacCready’s arm a good-spirited pat at the same time. “There’s a whole lot of stupid in this group, let me tell ya.”

“ _Hey_ \--”

“Collectively, Creaders. Collectively.” He grinned and gave Mac’s arm a squeeze. He then turned his gaze back on Nora, teasing. “Collective stupid with exclusive membership is good. Checks and balances. We know what happens when we don't have a system. I mean, together we can wipe out a creepy underground shadow organization, but alone… well, a deathclaw is still a deathclaw, baby.”

Nora smiled somewhat at that-- the way he was grinning at her, taking cheap shots just to make her laugh. It was _normal._

She'd calmed considerably, body tired-- wanting to lay back down- but she didn't want to move from between them. She still couldn’t believe she thought it was a good idea to come down here. She wished she could take it back. “It wasn't a deathclaw that did that.”

Mac moved a little back to look at her, his shirt sticking to her hot, bare skin. “But we found--”

“It was the second deathclaw.” There were quick intakes of breath, and the more hugs, and she wasn’t surprised. 

“ _Goddamn_ , boss.”

“I knew you were tough but… _Christ_ Nora,” Deacon said, amusement gone. His ideas about how everything might’ve gone down for her were being blown away like so much dust. He held her a little bit closer, thinking further that he was an asshole for her to have been put in such a position. It took him and Mac _both_ to take down the deathclaw at the church. 

He wondered if the one in pieces at her front door was the _second_ one, or god forbid yet _another_ one.

Mac was stroking her back, face clearly thinking on the same things Deacon was, and the older man angled to look at Nora’s face as he spoke. “How do you feel? Does it still hurt?”

She turned her head towards Deacon’s voice in her ear. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “No… I'm… I’m tired, but no... it doesn't hurt…” She peeled herself off Mac and turned to Deacon once more, just needing to feel his arms around her, and wishing wishing _wishing_ she could take all of this back. She felt hot and exhausted and so so tired. “...Hug me?” 

They were already hugging her, but they could always get closer. “Now _that_ is something we can definitely do,” Deacon told her, the older man giving Mac a grin as he reached far enough to encompass the sniper as well. MacCready, to his credit, fell right in line and hugged them both right back, arms strong around Deacon and pressing Nora between them.

“...Nora, do you need anything? Hungry for more soup?” Mac asked as she slumped between them.

She shook her head. “If you could just stay with me… Just stay.”

Mac pressed a kiss at the nape of her neck. “Absolutely.”

“Well I did have an evening at the opera planned but against you? It was no contest.”

She lightly exhaled, a sound almost like a snort of amusement as both held her close. Deacon murmured to her a story of how Mac had saved him from ferals and what a good shot he was-- that he wished she could have seen it- and how the Glowing Sea didn’t stand a chance between the sniper _and_ Nora. 

Mac rebutted the praise with the tale of Deacon riding a deathclaw, getting disbelieving snorts from Nora as she turned to face him instead as Deacon swore up and down that every word was true. They settled better against the wall the mattress abutted nice and close, and Mac recounted it proper-- from Deacon standing on the roof complaining like an old man, to the part where he flew through the air to land on the huge lizard’s back.

Mac thought he told the story well, but Nora fell asleep against him, and Deacon was even out next to her before he'd even finished. 

If not for the hours of walking through hostile territory-- both to get there and also to the crater and back- multiple stimpack injections, and an IV of radaway through his system, MacCready would have thought Deacon was faking the heavy snores that came out of him. 

But no, both were asleep, and he too was feeling the exhaustion of the days hiking and emotional-worrying getting to him. 

They were all budged together on the mattress not unlike the way they used to sleep in Little Lamplight. Nora was curled into his side and Deacon’s arms were around her and stretched over Mac too. It was nostalgic and comforting and _new_ all at once.

There were frag mines outside the cave. Turrets scanning the long entryway.

It was safe to fall asleep together.

\--

When Mac woke up hours later, he found they were all laying on their sides proper instead of leaning back against the wall. He didn’t remember moving but he was actually decently comfortable.

Deacon had his arms wrapped around Nora, his face in her belly over the blanket as he curled up low on the mattress. Mac was spooning Nora, face in her hair, an arm slung over her and his hand rested on the back of Deacon’s neck. It was a wonderful way to wake up, actually. 

And an even better way to fall right back asleep.

When he woke up again, Deacon was already up and moving around the cave, and Nora was now curled in on herself and budged up against his side. She was still feverish as he laid a hand against her forehead, but sleeping deep. He didn't want to wake her if she’d managed to sleep through the sounds Deacon was making at the workbench. She must be exhausted.

“Deacon…” His voice was a gruff whisper, and the older man turned with a smile.

“Hey there sleeping beauty. Go ahead and rest longer if you want. I'm just trying to figure some things out.”

Mac frowned at that epithet, but chose to get up. He was hungry, and that deathclaw stew was looking really freaking good at the moment. “What are you doing?” he asked after he’d covered Nora back up and approached the workbench. Deacon’s ripped suit was laid out and he was ripping duct tape into small strips. There was a wad of discarded tape off to the side.

“Failing at getting this rip closed,” he said with a smirk. 

“Not gonna matter much if we can’t get another suit anyways.”

Deacon threw an arm around Mac’s shoulder, and the other man gave him a sort of cranky look; still not awake enough to deal with his antics. “Your optimism is always appreciated, Mack-attack.”

Mac snorted and shunted him off in favor of inspecting the soup pot. Deacon must’ve eaten already, the lone soup-bowl off to the side cleaned and upside down. 

Some of the broth had reduced in the pot, but there was still plenty to tide them all over. More a proper stew than soup now, nice and thick. Didn’t matter, he was starving, and there was a wealth of deathclaw meat right at their doorstep. 

“We need to think up a new strategy… Something _not_ involving running our butts straight back to Sanctuary,” he added with a look at Deacon as he helped himself to the pot.

“Well we can always wrangle ourselves a couple of deathclaws and ride our way out of here.”

Mac snorted a laugh while Deacon grinned at him. “Now _that_ I’d like to see.”

“Wouldn't it be something?”

Mac grinned and carefully sat with his bowl next to Nora on the mattress, gulping down stew and hoping they’d figure out something by the time Nora was stronger… and before the food source gave out.

Nora stirred next to him, the scent of the food waking her, and she burrowed her head into his thigh, an arm snaking over his lap to lay there limply. His light chuckle got her attention, and she looked up as he placed his free hand over hers, the other one holding his bowl.

“Hey sweetheart. How you feeling?”

“...same as you look,” she answered with a tired smile, entwining her fingers with Mac’s own. 

He laughed. “So like crap then.” He brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles, and she smiled with tightly-closed eyes, stretching a little. “You hungry? You should probably eat.”

She relaxed and looked up. “I could eat.”

“We’re out of peach-cobbler,” Deacon announced as he left his work to join them, a smirk on his face as Mac rolled his eyes at the man. “The venison didn’t meet the chef’s standards, so we sent it back. And the strawberry shortcake wasn’t to par for an establishment of this calibre.”

“...I’d kill for strawberry shortcake Deacon… you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with less threat and more smile than needed.

“No, I don’t,” he agreed with an amused smirk. He sat near her legs, giving her thigh a pat as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. She snaked her arms around him for a quick hug, and then let him go as he sat back up with a concerned smile. “...You still feel pretty hot.”

She felt like crap is how she felt. Everything was achey and her head hurt and she was dizzy… not to mention her eyes hurt from all the crying she'd done. 

It wouldn’t stop her from taking the opening he gave though. “Hottest on the market… and don’t forget it.”

Mac nearly snorted soup everywhere, and Deacon laughed and gave the younger man a hearty pat to the back. 

“Okay hot stuff, don’t kill the man. You wanna sit up and eat?”

“Yeah,” she said, slowly moving and gathering the blanket in her arms to cover herself with. She levered herself into a sitting position. “Think you could give me a shirt?”

“You could have mine, but--”

“The spare is in my pack,” she said with a fond smile. She eyed the dark spots on his otherwise-white t-shirt, and the holes therein. “...What… what happened there, Deacon?”

“Raiders,” Mac informed with a judgmental frown at the holes in Deacon’s shirt. He wiped a hand across his mouth and licked at his lips. “And he’s too stubborn to wear--”

“Leather over leather and more leather, I _get_ it Mackers, you want me in leather to satisfy all those fantasies about me. I heard you the first time. We’ll handle it when we get back home.”

Mac actually went pure red at that. Nora snickered and chided Deacon, leaning against Mac’s back for support against dizziness, and the spy himself grinned. 

“Don’t be mean to him,” Nora said with a smile, a hand going to MacCready’s shoulder to steady herself, and another snaking around his waist both to hug and to keep her upright. She rested her chin on his shoulder, more from exhaustion than anything else, though she grinned at the sniper. “...hi.”

“Aw, I’m just teasing. He knows I like him.”

It didn’t seem possible, but MacCready went even _redder_. Nora gave him a squeeze and looked at Deacon. “...Can you get my shirt, Dee?”

Deacon laughed and got up, leaned unnecessarily close to Mac to press another kiss to Nora’s hot forehead, and gave MacCready a considering look and a pause wherein he weighed the pros and cons, the look on the sniper’s red face, and the possible ways Mac might react if he planted one on the sniper as well.

He quickly pressed a kiss to the top of Mac’s head too before moving away with amused swiftness before the other man could decide how to react.

Nora’s chuckles covered Deacon’s retreat, and she pressed close against the sniper as even Mac’s ears had gone pink. He might’ve liked it, but he was flustered as hell and that was obvious. She thought it was fair enough to even the playing field. “...Deacon has a thing for hats, if you ever wanna tease him back,” she softly shared. 

Mac turned his red face to properly look at her. “ _Really_ now?” 

“Yeah,” she said with a smile, laying her head on his shoulder facing him and closing her eyes in exhaustion. How did she feel so damn tired when she’d just woken up? And the heat… This felt worse than the damn flu. “He totally gets off on it,” she murmured, eyes still closed.

“You’re kidding me…”

She opened her eyes to meet his own, smirking, and stroked her thumb where she gripped his shoulder. “I didn’t mean literally.”

“No, I-”

“Next time you wear a new hat, watch him,” she clarified with a smirk. “He won’t look interested, but watch him.”

“I… maybe I will,” he muttered, looking at the older man's back as Deacon had retrieved Nora’s pack and propped it up on the workbench.

Deacon dug around in Nora’s bag, not really listening to their hushed murmurs and easy tones as he tried to find some shirt they must’ve missed before. “So we’ve dumped this out already, actually. Where is this mystery shirt, boss?” he asked over his shoulder.

“...It’s more like an undershirt,” she said loud enough for him to hear it. “Lightweight. Check the inside pockets.”

He did just that, hearing the fatigue in Nora’s voice, and the light chuckle and back and forth as she and MacCready sat together murmuring about whatever.

He was looking for something small and compact-- compact enough to be in one of the smaller pockets. They hadn’t bothered with anything _not_ solid in their search for hypo-shaped meds; a shirt would've been easy to miss.

He grabbed at the inside of the bag, feeling for some softness to tell him which inner pocket it would be in. One of them had an odd shape to it, and his curiosity overroad his sense of decency. He unzipped it and stuck his hand in, pulling out something that made his gut drop and his heart lodge in his throat.

It was her wedding rings-- or hers, and the one belonging to her murdered husband. He recognized the one she’d stopped wearing, keeping secure where prying eyes wouldn’t target it. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Also inside that pocket was the toy soldier he knew MacCready had given to her some time ago; carved by his late wife, he knew, and a token of so much feeling in just a simple toy. It meant a _lot_ to the other man, he knew, and apparently it meant a lot to Nora. Mac was blinder than _he_ was if he didn't realize how in love with her he was.

But that wasn’t what got his heart threatening to burst right out of his chest though. With those items-- her wedding ring, her husband’s wedding ring, Mac’s soldier- was a folded slip of paper he didn’t need to open to know what it said. _You can’t trust everyone_. God… she’d been hanging on to _that_ all this time? And it was _here_ , with items like these… He felt a hot blush steal to his cheeks.

Fuck, he had a whole lot to make up for. 

He quickly dug around, replacing the treasures and willing away the heat in his cheeks as he eventually found the undershirt. If the heat wasn’t gone from his cheeks when he turned back…. Well, he’d just blame it on Mac’s charisma or something.

“This what I’m looking for?” Deacon asked with an over-exaggerated grin as he stood where he was and held up the shirt. It was sheer compared to what they’d normally wear, but it was something. He made a big production out of waving it back and forth, stalling.

“That’s it,” she told him, still using MacCready’s back as support as she leaned heavily against him. 

“Didn’t think you’d need a backup?” Deacon asked, raising a brow at the undershirt and giving her a grin.

“Wasn’t really thinking, actually,” she admitted, watching the way the grin on Deacon’s face wavered, but offering him a sort of smile anyways. She reached out with the hand wrapped around MacCready’s waist, and Deacon took the extra step to actually put it from his fingers to hers. She gave his hand a squeeze before retrieving the shirt, and steadied herself off the sniper.

She let the blanket drop without preamble and they both looked away automatically. It was sweet but unnecessary, and she slowly pulled it over her head, muscles feeling weak; shaky. It took more out of her than she’d thought possible, but once it was on, she somewhat chuckled and leaned back on Mac heavily. Fuck she was tired. “You can look. Nothing neither of you haven't seen before.” 

“Hey, who says chivalry is dead?” Deacon said with a laugh as he turned back.

“...she does apparently…” Mac muttered as Nora chuckled.

“Thanks for trying, honey,” she told him with a fond smile, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of his neck which made him shiver. “I… I think I need to lay down again.”

“Well hey, wait a minute, let’s get some more food in you,” Mac stopped her, turning his body more to get an arm around her waist and help support the slumping she’d been doing. “It’ll make you stronger.”

“Like Grognak,” Deacon said with a smirk. “Mac would know.”

“Oh shut up.”

“ _You_ can dish up the goods, Dee,” Nora told him tiredly, and Mac grinned triumphantly and held out the bowl presumptively to Deacon. Nora stopped the older man’s smirking face from retort as he accepted the bowl from the sniper. “No one’s gonna dish up yours if you’re mean.”

“I feel like we are having two _very_ different conversations right now,” Deacon replied with a grin. She just snorted and turned herself into Mac’s chest, ignoring Deacon with a smile in favor of being held by the sniper. Mac rolled his eyes, but he was smirking, so no harm done.

Deacon went about trying to scoop up chunks of meat in the hopes it would do more for her than just the mushrooms and soup-- or what was more akin to sauce at this point with how thick it was condensing. He sat next to her and passed the bowl to Mac without any smartass comments, and she turned to take it from the sniper, but still used him as support. 

“This is how my pot roasts used to turn out,” she said with a look in the bowl. The meat looked tender, and as far as soup went, well, it was pretty thick.

“Mac made it,” Deacon quickly shifted blame, and the younger man scoffed until Nora laughed.

“That wasn’t a bad thing,” she said, looking into the bowl of deathclaw meat and not for the first time wondered if she’d ever see a real, normal cow again. “...fuck I’m tired.”

“You can lean against me more than that if you need to,” Mac told her with concern, and she did just that.

Deacon put his hand on her forehead, the other on MacCready’s as the sniper groused at him but stayed still under the treatment. Nora pressed into his hand and hummed, his palm feeling cool. “You’re still _really_ hot, good-lookin’,” he said as he removed his hand. Mac’s own forehead felt miles cooler than hers, and the sniper put his own free hand on his own forehead, and then on Nora’s to see for himself.

“Well, that deathclaw was an asshole…” she said as Mac removed his hand. She more or less drank the meat chunks, chewing for what felt like ages even though the meat was actually really tender. Chewing made her jaw hurt, and she realized she was probably a whole lot weaker and tired than she felt. “Any water to chase that with?” Deacon passed her some, and when he’d even gotten it she didn’t notice. Eating made her dizzy. “I… _really_ feel like crap.”

“We have another stimpack… You can probably have it now without getting stimpack sickness,” MacCready suggested, pretty sure they hadn't slept for too long, but long enough it wouldn't make her woozy. He gave her a supportive squeeze. “I’m sure you need it.” She just hummed in response. 

Deacon retrieved one of the two remaining stimpacks, and they waited until she’d eaten her fill and got as comfortable as she could laying down again to give it to her. He shot MacCready a little grin before looking back at Nora. “Trust me, you don’t want this guy sticking you; doesn’t know the meaning of easy.”

“Oh shut up. I _was_ easy before, and you’re just a big baby.”

Nora was already smirking before Mac realized too late the opening he’d given the other man. Deacon had to wonder if he was just a glutton for punishment, but he was endlessly amused to tease the young merc. “You _were_ easy, huh? Does that mean I’m gonna have to work for it in the future?”

Nora’s snort and Mac’s pink cheeks were worth it, and Deacon was certain the sniper didn’t retaliate only because Deacon had Nora’s arm in his hand and a needle in her vein. 

“...I feel like that’s gonna come back to bite you, Dee.”

“ _He wishes_ ,” Mac muttered, giving the older man wary looks as he sat there with a comforting hand on Nora’s shoulder.

Deacon just smirked, giving the hand on the arm he’d injected a kiss, and then set aside the syringe. He gently rubbed his hand up and down her arm, and she turned hers to catch his hand in hers. She entwined their fingers, and he gave them a fond squeeze. “Just rest, okay? Let the stimpack do its thing.”

“It’s okay to just rest,” Mac reiterated, gently petting along her hairline. “Take advantage of the time where Deacon does anything _except_ talk.” She snorted and Deacon moaned out a dejected “ _Heeeeeeeeey_ ”, and MacCready bent to kiss between her brows, whispering for her to rest even while Deacon was continuing to gripe on about how much he _didn’t_ talk.

Nora gave the whiny spy a tug. “Dee… shut up and gimme a hug.”

He did just that with a wide-grin, and bent to properly embrace her. Her face tucked into his neck, and she held him just as close. He smelled like radiated dirt and sweat and his own unique scent, and she loved the intimacy of it. 

He pulled away to give her a smirk, then kissed the tip of her nose which made her blink and look away before looking back with a smile. “You rest up. We need to tear the Glowing Sea a new one and that's not much fun without you.”

“...I wanna see you ride a deathclaw,” she said tiredly, exhaustion pulling her under, but wanting to talk to him; look at him.

“We can work on that.”

She fell asleep pretty quickly, actually, and they both sat there watching her pensively until her breathing evened out into something deep.

“That stimpack should about do it, right?” Mac asked worriedly as he looked down at her. His hand was hovering just above her forehead, feeling the heat radiating off it. “Take care of the fever?”

“Yep,” Deacon said confidently as he got to his feet. “In the meantime, we've got _this_ ,” he said with a smirk as he gathered up the cool cloth again for her forehead. 

Mac removed his hand so Deacon could place the cloth, and they watched her a few more moments without speaking. They'd been waiting for her fever to break for what seemed like ages, but by his reckoning they'd only been in the cave barely a day. Couldn't help the concern he felt though. He wished they were back in Sanctuary. It was turning out to be a hell of a week.

“I was thinking…” Mac began, as he absentmindedly stroked her hair, “We should consider our options here.” 

“Like, wallpaper and china sets?”

“Deacon,” he said, looking at the other man with actual worry. “We only have the one radiation suit between us-- well two, with your ripped one- but there’s no way we can stay in this cave long enough for her to get her strength back.”

“That scientist did it.”

“He was a supermutant.”

“Nora thought it was doable.”

“She’s _Nora_.” Deacon snorted, and Mac frowned. “Really though. Even if the stimpack deals with the fever, it'll be a few days before she's strong enough. And deathclaw only stays good for so long. _And_ we're lower on ammo than I'd hoped, so forget hunting out here. Not to mention the stimpacks.”

“Well aren't _we_ looking on the bright side.”

“I _am_. But it doesn't change the facts about our inventory. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“... _Muhcre’y_ …” Nora’s barely coherent voice murmured, “... _loud…”_

“Sorry boss, sorry,” he quickly said as he leaned low to stroke her cheek in apology as she was already back asleep. He didn't want to look at Deacon, as he could already feel the smartass grin on his face a mile away. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and didn't even look at the other man. “Don't start.”

“I wasn't gonna say nothin’,” Deacon said with far-too-chipper tone in a much softer voice.

Mac fixed him with a frown as if he'd argued the point. “You _do_ talk a lot.”

“And you like listening to my voice. Don't deny it,” Deacon said with a shit-eating grin. “Anyways, grilled deathclaw, deathclaw steaks, deathclaw jerky, deathclaw fondue, I mean, we have _some_ options here.”

“Dea--”

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” Deacon told him seriously, dropping some of the bullshit as he could see the frustration mounting on the other man’s face. “Between the three of us, we’ll figure it out. Let's just let her body do its thing before we get too worried about the what ifs.”

“Coming from you, that's rich.”

“Always aim to please,” Deacon said with a smirk.

Mac just huffed, but didn't have anything to add to that. He shifted his worried gaze back to Nora, removing the cloth on her head to refold the warm side. He swung it a little to get the heat off it, and replaced it on her forehead.

Deacon watched the gentle movements, knowing they wouldn't come up with anything right now. Nothing they could even feasibly try until Nora was better. They could take care of her, though. At least until the deathclaw outside was beyond rationing. 

“You grew up in a cave, right?” Deacon asked. Mac shot him a look, and he raised his hands. “Just making conversation. We can talk about something else if you want.”

“Yeah…” Mac answered a bit distrustfully, waiting for teasing that never came. “Little Lamplight was more like a cavern than… _this._ This is tiny.”

“Not the one-bedroom studio-apartment type, huh?” Deacon asked with a grin as he motioned to the size of the cave. 

“It was bigger,” Mac agreed with a nostalgic smile. “Or I was just smaller. Everything looks bigger when you're a kid. Honestly though, I always feel more comfortable with a rocky ceiling over my head than open skies. It feels safer.”

“Depends on what else is in the cave,” Deacon said with a laugh. 

“We had a supermutant nest in the back of ours.”

“ _Christ._ ” Mac just shrugged. And Deacon couldn't help himself: “Sooo guess you're feeling at home here... Ya know, rocky ceiling, supermutant predecessor...” Deacon’s grin was getting ridiculously large and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out from laughing.

MacCready just shook his head with an amused huff. “Nora already told that joke. _Months_ back. Your material needs work,” Mac told him with a grin. 

Deacon chuckled. “I'm out of my element, gimme a break here.”

Mac grinned as he considered the older man. “Nora said you've been to the Capital Wasteland.”

“Talk about me, do you?” he deflected with a raised brow and implicating tone.

“Yeah you wish,” Mac told him with a grin that only got wider as Deacon decided to sidle up to him obnoxiously, sitting far too close with a way-too-pleased grin on his face. He took care to Nora just behind them, but didn’t let it stop him badgering the younger man.

“What kinda stuff you gab about? Anything racy?” he teased, crossing a leg over his knee so it knocked against Mac’s own legs. He rested his chin in his hand as he propped his elbow up on his knee, and grinned at the other man.

“Maybe,” Mac replied with a secretive smirk.

Deacon’s brows shot up in genuinely pleased shock. He let that oily smile melt back onto his face like the sniper _didn’t_ just drop a bomb on him, heart picking up a little speed. Something he _wasn’t_ aware of? Oh this he had to know. “Oh mister MacCready, _do_ tell me some lurid secrets.”

“Well, for one thing...”

Deacon wondered at the playful look on Mac’s face, but was too intrigued by the possibility he was _actually_ going to share something titillating. What kind of things did he and Nora talk about when he wasn’t there? That they talked about him in a favorable light was very exciting. 

Too good to be true? _Definitely._

“You’re particularly fond of _hats_ I hear.” Deacon couldn’t stop the smile from freezing and just as quickly melting off his face before Mac was already grinning with surprise. “Wait, it’s true?”

“Hats should be appreciated,” Deacon told him haughtily, knowing there was no way to deny it after he’d already shown his surprise. 

“I’ve got a few ideas about how you _appreciate_ hats.”

“Hey it’s nothing like _that_ ,” Deacon quickly corrected lest the sniper think he was in the business of ruining decent headwear.

“Oh yeah? What _is_ it like then?” 

MacCready looked _way_ too damn smug, and _way_ too attractive looking way too damn smug. Deacon would be lying (and when wasn’t he?) to say he didn’t like it, but he wasn’t _prepared_ for this, and it threw him. 

This _had_ to come from Nora. One too many comments about that damn sea captain’s hat, and she was more perceptive than anyone gave her credit for. He’d brought this upon himself, really.

He grinned, avoiding the question entirely. “I’ll let you think on it. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

“So like, do you like _doing_ things to the hats, or--”

“ _Thinking_ means using the voice _inside_ our heads. Not the outside voice,” he quickly said to the teasing tone Mac gave him. 

MacCready slung an arm around him since he was so intent on deflecting the issue and still being so snarky. He was genuinely having fun having the other man at his mercy for once, and Deacon was good at hiding a great many thing, but his information had come from _Nora_. “So is it _you_ wearing the hats, or others wearing the hats? Or a mix of both?”

 _“Inside_ voice. Inside. You don’t seem to be grasping the concept very well.”

Mac ignored him, close enough to whisper all conspiratorially as if telling a secret. “So when you gave me that funny minutemen hat about a month back, it wasn’t _entirely_ out of the goodness of your heart, was it?”

Deacon snickered. Yes, he remembered ‘finding’ that old tricorn. He remembered finding it in a shop in Goodneighbor and thinking how good it would look on the other man when he ‘found it’ scouting along the river ahead of the other two that time. The sniper had been too pleased to wear it, and Nora had laughed and told him he looked great. Deacon had acted uninterested but enjoyed looking at him the rest of the day… and also thinking about it later. He’d probably look good in the rest of the uniform too, actually. “Oh MacCready… you are _so_ not ready for that conversation.”

“ _Maaaaag_ …” Nora’s annoyed whine came, slurring on his name even though it had been Deacon doing the talking. Her half-asleep murmurs came with shuffling as she rolled onto her side in annoyance, cloth falling off her head and already back asleep as they watched her with silent amusement. 

They looked back at one another. Mac was still grinning. “Told you you’re loud.”

“It was _your_ name, pal.”

“She’s probably having nice dreams is all,” he said with a cocky smirk, though he looked behind himself to check they weren’t disturbing her anymore. His eyes shot back to Deacon’s. “Dreams about hats.”

“Or you in them,” Deacon countered. 

Mac just chuckled, but he let Deacon go, and got to his feet with a smirk. Playtime over. “We should probably stop bugging her. Let her rest.”

Deacon smirked. “You’re the one still talking.”

“And now it’s you.”

“Maybe you should shut me up,” Deacon suggested, outward demeanor easy but inwardly on edge as he puckered up a few times with over-exaggeration. 

Mac _didn’t_ give him that kiss, which was expected but still an odd mixture of relief and disappointment, but he _did_ grin at the other man. His words still gave Deacon hope. “You don’t deserve a reward after teasing me.”

“I’ll make it up to you. All the leather you can put me in. Come on now.” He puckered up a few more times, extra ridiculous as he knew it wasn’t happening.

MacCready just snorted dismissively, shaking his head in amusement. “We should get some sleep.”

Deacon chose to go wide-eyed behind his sunglasses, brows halfway up his head and mouth open in mocking-shock. “Holy shit, it’s that easy to get you into bed?”

“Shut up Deacon.” Mac couldn't help the laugh that escaped him as the older man still waggled his brows at him. He motioned to either side of Nora with a smile. “Wall or side?”

“Take your pick. I’m not tired enough to sleep.”

“Bullshit,” Mac replied.

“I’ll keep watch,” Deacon said with a smirk.

“There’s mines and turrets. You don’t need to,” the sniper pointed out.

“I mean, I’ll watch you sleep,” he jokingly amended.

“Creep.”

“Yeah, but it made ya smile.”

Mac shook his head with a laugh, and chose to lay on the wall-facing side so Deacon could easily come rest on the other side of Nora if he chose to. The man in question himself got up to mess around with his torn radsuit again, and Mac listened to the sounds and hoped he was successful.

He laid down next to Nora, not sure if he was imagining that she felt a little bit cooler or not. Still hot against his skin, but not _as_ hot. She felt good in the damp cave, though-- no chills at least- and he was optimistic that after that stimpack she’d be feeling better in no time.

They didn't know they were just staving off the inevitable, though.

She was getting _worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite earlier words i _am_ still worried i'm kind of pushing too hard or yoyo-ing their feels/things happening so i hope pacing is working. A _lot_ has happened feels-wise in this chapter, i feel. (hahaha bad puns are bad xD) Feedback and what you're enjoying is _super_ appreciated and validates my poor excuse for writing xD hahaha
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another _very_ long chapter (9.6k) because i really REALLY appreciate the comments guys... And since i've been so mean I GRANT YOU SMUT. 〆(・∀・＠)
> 
> So please leave a comment? :) i see you subscribed lurkers not commenting >_> ahahaha let's bring on the fun interlude before i really hurt ya'll >:3 hahaha

Deacon woke up to Mac and Nora’s hushed voices, his face pressed into solid warmth that was MacCready’s back.

He smirked to himself realizing he had an arm draped over the sniper, and furthermore that the other man hadn't removed him. He could feel the steady beat of Mac’s heart where his hand was between Nora and the merc, and he wondered how long they'd been awake without him, deep in quiet conversation.

“...so it's- it's okay,” Nora’s soft voice came, reassuring in its tones. “ _I'll_ be okay… I think. All said and done… I… I probably haven't fully processed it yet. But I'm really glad you're here, honey. Regardless.”

“That's still shitty. I'm just-- I'm sorry. We let you down. But it won't happen again. I swear, Nora.”

Mac’s voice. And he was cursing. What a way to wake up indeed. He could feel the merc’s arm moving-- probably stroking Nora’s own. He could hear the smile in her voice.

“It was just… what was it that-- _a fucked up situation.”_

Deacon couldn't help the wry grin that spread over his face at those same words he'd spoken before. He moved his hand between them, heard Mac’s surprised intake of breath; the sudden amusement in Nora’s voice.

“Well speak of the devil. And he's trying to cop a feel,” Nora said with a grin.

“I'm not trying to cop a feel,” Deacon said from the other side of Mac. “If I was trying to cop a feel, you'd _know_ I was trying to cop a feel.”

“Stop saying ‘cop a feel’,” Mac muttered.

Deacon lifted his head slightly, looking at both of them. Nora smirked, and Mac held a look of tolerant amusement. “So I should _do_ it instead you mean?” He allowed his hand to travel down Mac’s stomach where the sniper snatched it up before he could get his hands on the prize. The sniper didn't remove him though, and he held his hand over Deacon’s own, firm but gentle. The older man flexed his hand slightly to spread his fingers, and like he'd hoped, Mac curled his own around them. It made a happy warmth bloom in Deacon’s chest.

“How are you always immediately _on_ after waking up?” Nora asked with amusement. 

Deacon felt another hand, softer, on his, and realized Nora had picked up both of theirs before he felt her lips press a kiss to his hand. She then kept it on both of theirs, thumb stroking over warm skin. “ _On_ huh? Is that what we're calling that now?”

Mac snorted and Nora chuckled, and the older man propped himself up on an elbow to grin at them both. 

“Morning.”

“I think it's evening,” Mac said with a smirk, looking over his shoulder at Deacon. 

“Always a pleasure, MacCready.” He felt the merc squeeze his hand, and he squeezed back with a feeling of uncertain excitement in his belly. He looked to Nora. “How you feeling, boss?”

“A lot better than I was,” she said. 

“She's still hot though.”

“I've _always_ been hot, Mac.”

The merc snorted and she leaned over to cup his cheek and press a smiling kiss to the side of his mouth. He laughed with pleasure at the treatment, squeezing both their hands in response.

Watching that immediately made Deacon perk up, optimistic. He wanted to be kissed by her too, actually. Would do it himself if she wasn't way over there. “And where is _mine_?” Deacon said in mock offense, making her chuckle as she looked at him over Mac’s shoulder.

“You decided to stick your darling self way over _there_ , otherwise I might have something for you,” she teased, and just to add insult to injury, kissed Mac again with a loud hum. The sniper unapologetically chuckled at Deacon’s expense. “Mm too bad.”

“ _Hey now_ , you got all sprawled out and the only space _left_ was the sliver this guy left against the wall,” Deacon said, taking their grouped hands and giving Mac a poke that made him grunt. 

“And here I thought it was my charm got you over there,” Mac grinned behind himself, turning his attention on Deacon.

Deacon’s heart sped up with a smirk as Mac aimed that smile at him, and he cuddled up nice and close behind the merc, sticking his face obnoxiously in Mac’s back as the sniper chuckled and Deacon’s muffled words came. “Oh no doubt about that. _Definitely_ your charm, and _not_ Sprawly McSpace-Taker next to you.”

Nora snorted at being referred to as such, and cuddled up into Mac’s space in the front to sling an arm over both of them. Her mouth was against Mac’s shoulder, peeking over it at Deacon to make her smiling point while Mac snorted into her hair. “I don't _sprawl_ Dee, see?”

“Now you're _both_ hogging space,” MacCready complained as they pinned him between their aggressive cuddles, though he sounded pleased as punch. He pressed a kiss to Nora’s cheek while she laughed and touched their noses together.

“It's called _cuddling_ , and I'll take as much of your precious space to do it as I want,” Nora told Mac playfully as she worked an arm under him so she could wrap both around his back and hold him tight. What might have started as teasing _Deacon_ was now just hugging _Mac_ , and that was just as good in her book. Especially feeling Deacon’s hand on hers behind Mac’s back, and hearing the older man’s good-natured chuckles.

The sniper snorted but obliged her, smirking at the grin she aimed his way. Mac was able to tip her chin with his arm stuck between them, and he planted a quick kiss on her lips that turned into a bit more as she pressed into it, holding him tightly.

Deacon’s grin was wide at Mac’s back, liking where this was going, and very excited indeed to be there for it. They were certainly on the same page here-- no, the same _sentence_ even as far as he was concerned. It was jarring to go from nothing to this-- this level of _comfort_ between the three, but he wanted it with every ounce of his being, and the fact that everything was actually going _right_ made him antsy with anticipation.

Nora must’ve been feeling better indeed, and if she wasn’t, she certainly was _now_. He could see by the way she grasped at the young merc with her arms around him, and hear the way she was breathless when they broke apart that Mac must be one _hell_ of a kisser. He wondered how he might get him to act on that kiss he said he owed _him_ , as nothing thus far had yielded results. 

But then, it was turning out to be a nice morning after all.

Nora felt wonderfully dizzy, smirking as she hummed in her throat, eyes meeting Mac’s own. The look there warmed her immensely; a softness that made her heart pick up speed. She wondered if he could see the love mirrored back in her own eyes. “...You haven't kissed me like _that_ since we got Duncan’s cure.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should do it more often,” he said with a little laugh.

“Okay, feeling a little left out over here,” Deacon exaggeratedly groused in the hopes of some kisses himself.

Nora disentangled her hands from them both to prop herself up on her elbow and smile at Deacon. “Someone’s impatient,” she lightly teased, though her eyes were on his lips and her other hand was sliding up the forearm Deacon had over Mac’s belly as the sniper turned to his back.

“Where kisses are concerned? I’m not even gonna _pretend_ I have patience, baby,” Deacon said dramatically with a waggle of his brows that made her smirk. “Actually I’m _super_ impatient. The fact that I’m still talking instead of getting kissed is offensive--”

“... _god you talk a lot_ ,” Mac murmured to himself, making Nora snort as Deacon turned his little speech on the sniper.

“--and I don’t talk unless it’s of the utmost importance, which it is, because we’re talking about me not getting kissed here, which, as far as crimes go, is pretty--”

The sniper took his face between his hands before he could even come to the realization that Mac was _actually_ kissing him. 

He hadn’t expected that. After all the times trying to get the sniper to kiss him, and here he didn’t even ask-- well, not _exactly_ … And it was a good proper kiss too, even if his brain was loudly celebrating it and his smartass sense of satisfaction wouldn’t shut up long enough for him to _really_ appreciate the scratch of Mac’s facial hair or the way his thumb caressed his cheek, or the way he broke a moment to smile, only to return and kiss him anew.

It was definitely a good way to shut him up, that was for damn sure. MacCready _was_ a hell of a kisser, and his heart was just about beating out of his chest by the time the other man actually let him go.

Nora pressed her own kiss to Mac’s cheek as he lay there, murmuring something Deacon wasn’t fully listening to as he kind of processed that that had just happened, and _boy_ had it.

“Hoo… oh… yeah that's something...” Deacon said a little breathlessly as his brain tried to catch up with the satisfaction curling inside him.

“Paid in full with interest,” Mac said smartly with a cocky, self-assured grin. 

“That's cute, honey,” Nora spoke up, giving another quick press of her lips against Mac’s smiling own. She touched their foreheads together with a smile, turning her attention back to Deacon as it seemed he’d finally rebooted from the short circuiting Mac had given his brain.

“Okay, not that that wasn't, like, some Grade A kissing there, like _wow_ I'm more than impressed, but Nora has a lot less facial hair than you, and--” 

Nora snorted and Mac rolled his eyes with a grin. 

“ _Deacon_ , for the love of god, _stop_ ,” Nora said with a laugh as he was ready to go into another tirade about not getting kissed by _her_. She trilled her fingers on his arm as he smirked at her. “Greedy, greedy man.”

“MacCready… hey, help me out here,” Deacon said with a grin, looking at Nora and then back to the sniper.

The other man cocked his head before giving Nora a smirk. He wrapped his arms fully around her, and hooked a leg over her as well before using his strength to roll her on top of him before depositing her between them. He grinned at the blush on her cheeks as she laid wedged between them stunned a moment, and Deacon made more space as they settled down and got resituated. 

“Hello and welcome to the middle of the sandwich,” the spy said with a huge grin while Mac laughed, taking up one of her hands and linking their fingers. There was a light blush on her cheeks as she grinned first at Mac, then turned her attention back to Deacon. Excitement thrummed through him, and he smirked as he realized she'd _really_ liked Mac moving her. The sniper looked very pleased with himself indeed. It was easy to put two and two together. “Like being manhandled, do you?”

“A lot, actually,” she said a little breathlessly while Mac chuckled next to her, pressing another kiss to her cheek. She turned her gaze on Deacon. “Now what was that about me having _less_ \-- and not non-existent- facial hair than _Mac_?”

“Oh I'm sure you could grow a very impressive ‘stache indeed if you set your heart to it,” Deacon said as if she was insulted by the implication otherwise. It got a laugh out of her at least, but then she was finally kissing him, her lips a pleasing contrast against the feel of Mac’s own, and god it was the best thing ever. 

Mac grinned, because he well understood how much fun it was to kiss Nora, and how soft her lips were. Deacon was making pleased sounds in his throat that made the sniper’s mouth go dry and his pants a little tight, and he wasn't one-hundred percent certain if it was because he wanted to kiss Nora or Deacon himself again.

MacCready bent over the side of the mattress to grab some water he'd placed on the cave floor instead, and Nora kept on kissing Deacon until he actually broke it, heart thundering in his chest.

She smiled at him, wishing she could see his eyes at that moment, and hoping he could really see everything in her own for him. “Dee…”

“... _oh wow_ …” he said with a much quieter voice, as if he hadn't meant to vocalize that, but she looked at him with a smile and gentle fingertips on his face. Both of them were a little breathless, and Deacon’s heart was about beating out of his chest with pleasure at the way she was looking at him.

“Love you, Deacon.”

Mac rolled back over from the sip he'd taken, and realized something had changed dramatically in the two seconds his back had been turned. 

Deacon was kissing her ecstatically, like a live wire had been sent through him, his heart racing as he put all he could into his kiss and crowded into her space. The whole energy around them had changed, and Mac watched with both curiosity and interest at the fierce way Deacon devoured her mouth-- like he'd just discovered kissing for the first time and had to share all it's secrets with Nora.

Deacon’s own brain was going a little haywire, _hearing_ confirmation of something he already knew, and not having expected it to quite feel this way.

She’d said _that_. She’d said it. Something he wanted more than anything else in this world, and she’d just gone and said it like it was nothing; words rolled right off her tongue silky as satin where they stuck like glue in his own. 

He'd broken the kiss to look at her, grinning widely like he wanted to remember the moment-- this feeling- forever. She was looking at him with puzzlement at the way he'd frozen, and he realized just how hard he was grinning at her even if his own words wouldn't come. He broke from his daze to move back to her again.

“ _Nora_.” He cupped both of her cheeks in his hands with a wide grin, touching his forehead to her own before pressing another kiss to her lips. A little hummed chuckle left her lips as she kissed him back, a few tears sliding free at the intensity with which he kissed her, and he broke the kiss again to wipe her cheeks with his thumbs, still grinning like a maniac. 

“I just, uh, wanted to say it out loud,” she muttered without embarrassment, a smile shining with every bit of her affection for him. She blinked away more wetness, stroking her thumbs up and down the line of his grinning jaw. “Make a habit of saying it, is all.”

He laughed with pure pleasure, then kissed her again, completely taken leave of anything that wasn't Nora’s mouth as if he could kiss his own words right into her very soul. The way she sighed told him it was more or less working.

“I uh… _wow_ …” Mac said as he watched the way Deacon kissed her. He wished it was him, actually. The way Deacon kissed Nora was a raw show of physical emotion; probably the most honest thing he'd ever seen associated with the other man. He could see how much Deacon loved Nora, even if he didn't say anything. That was quite a look and touch to be targeted with. But that it was Nora… Yeah, he understood where Deacon was coming from pretty damn well. 

Deacon broke from kissing Nora senseless to look pointedly at Mac while the other man kind of gaped. Being the object of such a look totally threw the merc, as Deacon was filled with such happiness, such mirth that he had to share the overflow inside of himself or he might just explode. 

And now the sniper was caught in his sights.

Deacon muttered his name with a little laugh and kissed the sniper next, a hand on the back of the younger man's neck while Mac hummed into his kiss. 

Nora’s pleased hums beneath them registered somewhere in Mac’s ears, beyond the touch of Deacon’s hand and lips. The way Deacon opened his mouth to him, kissed him with passion made his belly do flip flops of excited anticipation and _wow_ he shouldn't be getting _this_ amped up over just kissing, but Deacon had a silver tongue in more ways than one, that was for damned sure.

“ _Wow_ ,” Mac said again as he broke from him, a little glassy-eyed from pleasure. 

Nora brought her own hands up to the sniper’s cheeks, seeing her chance. She gave him a tug back to her own lips, stealing him away from a grinning Deacon, and Mac kissed her with that much more enthusiasm. Mac could feel Deacon’s gaze on him as he kissed Nora with everything inside him. It got a sigh from Nora as they broke apart, looking at him with such sweetness in his eyes that she whimpered in her throat.

And then she was speaking with warmth, and now he was a little shocked and dizzy and why did it sound like the ocean in his ears?

“ _I love you, honey.”_

“Nora… I…”

“Yeah,” she stated with a smile.

“You love me,” he repeated, a little dumbstruck at getting to hear it.

“You’ve got that backwards, Mac-and-cheese.” Deacon’s voice was unabashedly happy, the grin on his face also apparent in his tone, guard down. He was in too good a mood not to tease a bit. Secondhand happiness as he knew what it felt to be on the receiving end of that statement-- happy Mac got to experience the same joy in those words that he did. Especially as Mac slowly processed what she'd just said, and also what Deacon had said.

“...Me love you?”

“Who are you, Grognak?” Deacon muttered with amusement as Mac quickly woke from his stunned daze to correct his sentence, laughing, and wrapped Nora in a fierce hug.

“Nora… sweetheart… I love you, too. So, so much like-- The feeling is definitely mutual,” he laughed with pink cheeks. “You'll never be alone again, I promise. We’ll take good care of you, okay? Make this life into something good, whatever you want it to be,” he told her honestly without pretense, pulling back to grin at her.

“How good?” she asked playfully, dragging a hand up his arm with implication. 

“So good you can't see straight,” he said back with a playful laugh, looking at Deacon for confirmation-- _invitation_ \- on his words. The spy gave him an interested grin, and Mac knew it had been the right move. He smirked back.

“I take back what I said earlier, MacCready. We need to have a conversation very very soon about what you wearing that minuteman hat did to me.”

Mac snorted and then chuckled, a pink-cheeked grin for the spy and a hand on Nora’s hip. Both of them together-- Nora here between them almost like a buffer- it felt _safe_ to flirt with the spy. And Deacon’s open grin seemed anything but disingenuine. “I’d be willing to have that chat.”

“Can I hug both of you?” Nora asked between them, and they both obliged with cuddling close, faces on either side of her cheeks as she pressed kisses to each. Deacon muttered about how he _might_ just be becoming a hugging-type after all, and Nora snorted and squeezed them both extra tight. She didn't have time to waste on bullshit after how miserable she'd felt; how hopeless everything had appeared. To know the opposite was to strip away the nonsense. She didn’t want any walls between them if it could be helped. She wanted to start over. And she needed them to know how she felt.

“I still cannot believe you both came down here. And I cannot believe I get to hug both of you at once right now,” she said with wonder, voice full of warmth and love and not wasting the pretense of bullshit to cover how she felt. 

“Let ya do a lot more than just _that,_ babe,” Deacon said with a smirk, pulling back to look at her, then raising a brow at MacCready.

“ _After_ you're stronger,” Mac amended with a chuckle and mischievous grin, though he placed his palm against her forehead, checking her temperature before brushing it over her scalp. The grin Deacon gave him had anticipation written all over it-- like Deacon was shocked they wanted the same things- which kind of made him smirk. For supposedly being able to read people, the spy sure didn't realize just how much Mac wanted this. Although truthfully, recognizing it had required a couple pushes from the spy that the sniper wouldn't deny he’d needed. He smirked at Deacon, then looked back at Nora. “Can't tire you out in a place like this.”

“That you think I could ever get tired of either of you is certifiable, Mac.” He kissed her lips at that, and she moaned when his tongue teasingly entered her mouth for just a moment. Her breath came a little faster, and he touched his nose against hers when they broke all too soon. 

Damn he was a good kisser. She could feel herself throbbing with want, and a certain special satisfaction that both of them were there with her at all thrilled through her. She was dizzy and breathing fast, arousal fighting the sense that she didn't have the strength to mess around with them, but goddamn she wanted to try. There was too much emotion inside she couldn't fully put into words, but that kisses and touches would effectively communicate. “This can't be good for my fever,” she said in a tone that begged the opposite.

“Maybe _this_ is,” Deacon told her with a playful smirk, a hand low on her hip and squeezing as he pressed his own mouth against hers. 

She made a noise she couldn't help at the thrill of desire that went through her, the sound going straight to both men’s cocks as Deacon kissed her deeply, humming in his throat with pleasure. The way he pressed against her, heavy, a thumb massaging circles into the skin at her hip… And God the hand Mac had opposite Deacon’s, wide and warm and fingers kneading at her flank as he hummed appreciatively in his throat. 

Her belly was doing all kinds of acrobatics, face hot and not just because of her temperature. It made her weak with want, hands grasping at Deacon’s shoulder as he smiled against her lips. God, she wanted him. Both of them. They were _right_ here. Would it be so bad?

The fact that she was currently weighing the pros and cons of having one or both of them _right now_ \- if it would be worth expending what little energy she had- made her moan out a whine of frustration after Deacon broke their kiss. God, it was almost worth it… 

She scrubbed her hands over her face with frustration, hearing the husky chuckle Mac gave next to her and the pleased hum Deacon gave on the other side after they separated. “ _After_ this bullshit heals,” she said, breathing deep and willing her heart to calm down a bit, “I just-- I want you both. I just want you both,” she blurted out a little breathlessly and without shame. 

She looked out behind a hand she dragged down her face with self-annoyance, just over her pursed lips as she looked between the sweet, besotted expression on Mac’s face, and the optimistic grin behind those sunglasses on Deacon’s. She looked between them, unsure. “I-- Can we? Can that be a thing? Is it okay?” she asked, fairly sure they were all on the same page, but confirmation of the fact would be nice.

“I've never heard of a better motivation to get well,” Deacon said with a smirk.

“I think it's safe to say we see eye to eye on things,” Mac added confidently, eyes darting to his own reflection in Deacon’s damn sunglasses. He wondered what he'd see in the older man’s eyes if they were off. The unguarded happiness on the spy’s face was enough by itself, the energy about him a little different. Mac smirked at his reflection and then took Nora’s hand and kissed it. “You need the rest, though.”

“Yeah, I guess teasing isn't very nice,” Deacon said with a smirk as his hand slid up her waist, then took her chin and pressed another, softer kiss to her lips.

She shivered in pleasure and gave an unsteady laugh. “No, it's not. If you knew how much I--” A simple move or two told her they were both more than a little hard in their pants, and god but she was considering it. The satisfaction, the comfort, the _lack_ of awkwardness and the need for intimacy after feeling so alone. She trusted them, and she wanted them. “I mean, a _little_ bit is _probably_ okay…right? If there's any stock in the phrase ‘kiss it better’...”

Deacon chuckled, a hand back at her hip, dipping just under her shirt to splay his fingers on her belly. He heard the way her breath quickened, and he shot a look to MacCready.

The sniper just shook his head and chuckled. He wondered if Nora got the phrase from Deacon, or Deacon got it from her. Or maybe they really _were_ all just operating on the same wavelength.

He certainly wanted her. And it wasn't as if it was his first time sharing a woman with another man in the room, either participating or watching… Though these weren't coworkers, to use the term lightly-- and he actually _liked_ Deacon, and the spy was about as far a cry from a Gunner as one could get...

He pushed unpleasant memories from his mind and smiled down at Nora. “I'm not sure how many kisses it'll take to make you better, but I'm game for trying,” the merc said with a grin.

Deacon’s heartbeat was pounding in his throat with excitement. A flush came over Nora’s cheeks that had nothing to do with her temperature, and she was looking between them with clear anticipation. Deacon pushed his hand a bit further up her shirt-- not much at all, but enough for her breath to catch in her throat at the feel of his fingertips. He watched her face, listening to the way she was breathing, and could feel the heat of arousal radiating off her skin. His own heartbeat threatened to burst out his chest in excitement.

Mac smirked as she bit her lower lip, and he placed a hand on her thigh to firmly rub, catching her gaze. “You want us to kiss it better, beautiful?”

Nora laughed lightly, indeed wanting to kiss the smug, knowing-grin on the sniper’s attractive face. She wanted a great many things at that moment. “That might take a _lot_ of kisses,” she said in mock uncertainty as if he might not be up for it, heart pounding away. “Maybe… maybe more than _that.”_

The huskiness of Deacon’s chuckle made her belly drop. Her nipples were pert beneath the undershirt-- been so for a while now- and the slow way Deacon’s hand edged up her shirt was making her hyper aware of the path of his fingers.

“You want us to make you feel good, gorgeous?” Deacon asked.

She chuckled, looking at them both. “You already do. You're _here.”_

Mac hummed thoughtfully at that and pressed his lips to hers yet again, caressing her cheek while Deacon took up a hand in his free one and kissed the back. Deacon didn't want to push anything too soon, but the way she grasped at them both, the little pleased sounds coming from her throat as Mac kissed her… He couldn't remember being this hard in his life, but all he wanted to do was make _her_ feel good. Start somehow slowly making up for the fact they were even _down_ here.

“Nora… let us take care of you, sweetheart,” Mac said against her lips, kissing the affirmative noise she made against his lips as he kissed her again. 

She grabbed at him, pulling him as he kissed her harder, making her sigh as he stroked a thumb up and down her pulse at her throat. She could feel Deacon’s hand slowly working up her shirt, hesitation she felt was entirely to tease, before he palmed her breast.

Her breath hitched until she had to break from MacCready’s mouth, back arching just a bit as the spy’s fingers toyed with her nipple. “D- _Deacon_!”

Mac drew his attention to where Deacon had a hand completely up her shirt and over her breast. He must've been tweaking at a nipple based on the sounds coming out of Nora, and that determined, smug look on his face said all it had to; he knew what he was doing, and he knew exactly what it was doing to her.

It made Mac grin.

“Tell him what you want, sweetheart,” Mac encouraged as the older man had stopped what he was doing, making her give needy little whines as Deacon grinned from behind those goddamn sunglasses.

“I-I just want both of you,” she said, breathing hard. “Anything… everything…”

Deacon chuckled. “Well you're still an invalid, so we won't do _everything_ ,” Deacon said with a teasing laugh. “But that doesn't mean we can't make you feel good, baby.” His hand left her breast to slowly travel back down her skin to her pants. He dipped fingertips into the waistline, and she shuddered with want. It made a thrill of pleasure run up his spine.

“Deacon, please?”

She was already squirming between them, and MacCready watched with an appreciative grin as Deacon’s hand dipped further into her pants, teasing. The way she grasped at him, and the little hitching sounds of her breath drew his eyes to the expression on her face, and Mac fell in love with the unguarded pleasure of it right then and there. He wanted to love her, make her feel good, and even if they couldn't do all that much, he wanted her to experience highs to counter the lows of the past few days.

“You say if anything is too much,” Mac told her, distracting her with the arousal in his voice and the path up her shirt his own hand was taking. “We'll stop.”

“I don't _want_ you to stop,” she stated as she arched into his hand.

Deacon chuckled, giving her skin a pat where his fingertips _just_ encountered coarse hair beneath her panties. “Just what he said,” Deacon agreed. “We shouldn't even be doing _this_ much until you're better…”

“No no, don't-” she said quickly, her hand stopping his retreat from her pants, keeping it there. 

It got a snort from the spy, and chuckles from the sniper. She relaxed again and kind of laughed at the desperate note in her own voice, and they all kind of sat there snickering together a few moments in genuine mirth before Deacon sealed his smiling mouth against hers and worked his hand deeper down her pants. He swallowed the sounds she made as Mac’s gun-callused fingers worked over her other nipple, and her gasp as Deacon’s fingers brushed over her clit. 

Mac moved to reposition himself a little better so the tightness in his pants didn't become too distracting, and he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger as she moaned into Deacon’s mouth.

Deacon broke the kiss to let her breathe-- to ask her permission for better access as his fingers quested south. “Can I take these off you, baby?”

“ _God_ yes.” The husky chuckle he gave made her shiver, and she gasped again as Mac tweaked her nipple, then bent to press a kiss to her jaw. She sighed out the sniper’s name as Deacon’s hands were at the buttons on her fly.

She wanted him. Both of them. Which first? Did she even have the stamina, and at that point, did she even care?

Nope, didn't care, wasn't even going to try to. She wanted them too bad, and the pleasure already coursing through her overrode any other concerns she might have.

The belt she wore was carefully undone, and then Deacon was slowly sliding her pants off her legs with Mac’s own help. Her legs immediately pebbled with goosebumps once they were off, and she smirked at the warm hand Deacon had on her knee; the one of Mac’s rubbing up her thigh.

“You know… this probably _is_ good for my temperature,” she joked as she laid between them, earning chuckles as fingers stroked her skin. “Nice and cool.”

“Probably,” Deacon agreed, a grin as he looked at her. “There are certainly things to be said about home remedies.” His fingertips dipped into her underwear, and she closed her eyes and bit her lip as she focused on the sensation with pleasure. A little shuddering breath left her, and Deacon resituated himself so he could watch a little better as Mac’s hand came up her side to cup her breast. 

Deacon timed delving his fingertips into her curls with the pinch of Mac’s fingers under her shirt, hearing the stuttering hitch of her breathing, choked out syllables of pleasure. She was so wet already, absolutely coating his fingers, and god but it made him so hard it almost hurt, he wanted to be inside her so bad. 

But no, this wasn't about him, and it wasn't about Mac; it was about making Nora see stardust and lightning and feeling highs to suffocate the lows. Show her the love he couldn't force from his own damn mouth… maybe even use that damn traitor mouth to do so.

Mac’s own hands and mouth were busy at her breasts, shirt pulled halfway down to better access her skin while she squirmed and held the back of the sniper’s neck in one hand, the other greedily gripping Deacon’s thigh like she could drive his movements with her own.

Deacon’s thumb passed over her clit, and Mac grazed his teeth over her nipple, and she was coming with sweet little cries that caught both men’s attention, body going tense a moment and then relaxing with a pleased shudder. 

“That's right, beautiful….”

MacCready moved his mouth from her breast to her lips, and she whined into the kiss and still squirmed against Deacon’s fingers. She hugged the younger man momentarily, only to gasp out in pleasure as Deacon made a harder pass that felt electric on her oversensitive clit.

“Mmmm hm hm….” Nora chuckled in her throat as Deacon didn't still his fingers, and Mac was nipping her neck. She spread her legs a bit in invitation for more, and Deacon wanted to thank every drop of karma he'd saved up for this as he teased down her inner lips, feeling how hot and wet she was after coming. MacCready was sucking kisses onto her neck and rolling a nipple with his thumb, and she leaned her head back to give him better access. “Oh that feels _sooo_ nice,” she breathed out. 

Deacon slid a finger into her and she cried out softly, her body immediately grabbing the intrusion in a welcoming embrace. He increased it by another as he rubbed the heel of his palm against her clit, and her hips squirmed at his movements. The sweet, ragged moan she let out made his cock throb in his pants. She'd come once already, but her body pulsed around him for more, and she was writhing in attempts to get him deeper. 

Deacon was pretty sure this might kill him. She was so hot and receptive, tugging at Mac, thrusting her hips on Deacon’s fingers, and making sounds that he'd live on the rest of his life by memory alone. He didn't deserve this much.

He wanted more. He wanted to _give_ her more. Make her come absolutely apart.

He moved down the mattress to lean more or less between her legs, and hooked his thumbs in her panties, desperately wanting to get his mouth on her. “Baby?”

She looked up with a nearly pained expression, the want increasing nearly double as Mac looked down her body to watch what the other man was doing. That the sniper rubbed a firm palm from the top of her thigh to just inside, _just_ shy of her heat and where she’d rather have him, made her groan and spread her legs further. “Yes Deacon, please, oh please--”

Deacon pulled her panties off without pretense and she spread her legs just enough to welcome him. It made his cock twitch impatiently in his pants and a stuttered moan leave him. He licked his lips without meaning to, seeing her sex glisten after they'd made her come once already. God he wanted to get his mouth on her.

“That mouth has to be good for something, right?” Mac teased, making her laugh with arousal and getting a self-deprecating huff from Deacon as the older man gave him a shit-eating grin from between her legs. 

“I'll make you eat those words one day, MacCready,” he responded fondly, smiling as the merc grinned before moving to place kisses at Nora’s collarbone and moving his way down.

Mac nipped at her nipples and rubbed a large hand from high on her waist past the deathclaw scars to rub his thumb into her sensitive hip. She stuttered out his name, softly, a hand on the merc’s head and her fingers threaded through his hair as she held him against her. She felt the kisses Deacon was pressing to her thighs moments before she felt the first touch of his tongue, and that was about the time cognitive thought flew out the window.

“O-oh my god-- D-Deacon. _A_ h Mac- _Mac kiss me_ … ah….”

MacCready left the nipple he was teasing with his tongue to seal his mouth over hers. She opened her mouth to his tongue as he continued to tweak her nipple with his fingers. Deacon’s tongue was busy licking and flicking against her clit, humming in his throat while she made little strangled noises of pleasure. He was working two fingers in and out of her as he sucked on her clit, and her moans and ragged breathing had both men worrying over ruining their pants.

Her body writhed between them and she clenched down on the fingers the spy was working into her. The feel of Mac’s tongue against hers was intoxicating and sending quivers of arousal south to where Deacon was licking into her, and Nora thought she'd never experienced anything this perfect before, and god she wanted at _least_ this for the rest of her natural life. The sensations were amazing, and the fact that it was _Mac_ and _Deacon_ , two men she loved, touching her with intent to please her, just wound her up far too tight.

Orgasm broke over her, crying out a delicious moan as she came much harder than the first time. 

Deacon didn't stop his movements as her body rapidly pulsed around his fingers, and she had a death-grip on Mac as her thighs tried to stop the onslaught of Deacon’s tongue. She could feel his huffs of pleased laughter against her innermost thighs while she moaned out their names, and finally the spy took pity and let up. He wiped a hand over his mouth and rested his head on her thigh with a smile, and she lay there trying to catch her breath, letting her grip on the sniper relax as Mac whispered sweet things in her ear.

“I need… I have no bones,” she said with a smirk, so deliciously satisfied she didn't think she could stand to save her life. She was sweaty and exhausted and way too wet from where Deacon had fucked her with his mouth, and she was more happy than she could remember being for a very very long time. She laughed a few times, the laugh of someone satisfied right to their core. She had a hand on Deacon’s head, and her other on the back of Mac’s neck feeling the strong, fast beat of his heart. Her fingers caressed them with all the fondness they could impart. “Fuck that was too good…”

“Glad to hear it, baby,” Deacon said with a smug grin, voice thick with desire as he slowly peeled himself off her limp thighs to sit a bit uncomfortably. 

Mac was running his fingers through her sweat-wet hair at her temple-- still checking, she knew- before resting his hand intimately on her side. It was thrilling to be so casually intimate-- but then, she reminded herself, she'd gotten to come twice, and both men were still in the un-satisfied zone of desire.

She could feel Mac’s clothed cock pressing against her thigh, and realized she could clearly see the way Deacon’s own pants tented outwards. She was no stranger to arousing a man; it must be painful.

“I-I want to take care of you,” she said fondly, unable to keep the exhaustion from her voice even as she eyed their tented pants, her meaning clear as day. “I love you both so much… and not just for the orgasms.”

Deacon chuckled and rubbed a hand up her thigh. “Baby, we’re not fucking you,” Deacon stated fondly, giving the other man a look from behind his sunglasses, but pleased to see no adverse reaction from the merc.

He'd hate to have been wrong about him. But god he loved being right.

“He's right, sweetheart,” Mac said with a smirk, then a frown at his cock with a mind of its own. He _needed_ release, but he wasn't going to take it from Nora’s exhausted body. “Don't think that means we don't want to, though,” he said with a laugh.

It was ingratiating to know she had the same effect as they had on her, and coming from a place of love… it made Nora want to cry. Most men weren't so considerate. _Nate_ had been considerate. He'd been-- god he'd been the _best_ husband. She knew he would've approved of them-- both of them- and it made her overcome with feeling. “I-I just-- I _want_ to. I love you so much, and you came all the fucking way down here, and I wanna take care of you, and--”

Her eyes were filling with tears, and soothing, comforting hands were immediately on her, gathering her up in a double hug sitting between them.

“Hey, look, you don't have to do anything,” Mac stated authoritively as he pet at her as reassuringly as possible. “Shit, Nora. We love you. Don't worry about it, just wanted to make you feel good.”

Deacon’s throat felt tight as he looked at the other man over her shoulder where they held her, so, so grateful MacCready could say the words he so badly wanted to in that moment. His own confession still stuck hard in his throat, and he couldn't dislodge it no matter how hard he tried.

“Tight pants never killed anyone, baby. There's plenty of time for everything, after,” Deacon told her, wiping away a tear that had slipped loose as she gave him a smile. “Consider the lines of communication open, okay? We're not going anywhere. And besides, what's a few orgasms among friends anyways, yeah? You can pick up the next one.”

She broke into genuine laughter at that, wiping her eyes and calling him ridiculous as her breathing evened back out and she hugged them both back with lingering chuckles.

Deacon’s words got a snickering grin from MacCready, the younger man giving him a look. “It's not like a _bar tab_ , Deacon.”

“So you're familiar with the idea. You volunteering to pick up the tab?” he teased with a grin and waggling eyebrows that made Nora snort. “Because that's what I'm hearing.”

“God _I thought you'd never ask_ …” Mac muttered to himself, scrambling off the mattress as fast as he could while Deacon and Nora watched in perplexment. 

“What're you-- oh-- _Oh_ , oh wow, okay, yes I'm very okay with this,” Deacon said in shocked surprise as the sniper was resituating him to get his hands on Deacon’s fly. 

Nora moved to hold Deacon’s back-- whether for him or for herself she couldn't honestly say- as she watched Mac eagerly get Deacon’s fly down and pull him out of his underwear in all his erect glory. Her mouth went dry at the sound Deacon made, and the way Mac’s hand wrapped around the other man’s girth. Lust was a good look on Mac, and helpless arousal painted Deacon’s face.

She started to feel _very_ pissed off at herself for having come down here. If she'd only stayed, she’d have enough energy to climb onto _that_. But listening to the way Deacon’s breathing became quicker-- the hitched quality as Mac gave him a few strokes before getting his mouth on the other man- and watching the sniper give Deacon the kind of pleasure that made his mouth gape open was _totally_ worth it in her opinion.

Deacon had been maybe expecting a glorified handjob when Mac had placed his hands on his fly-- more than a little eager to take them both up together in his own hand, honestly- but when the sniper gave him a stroke and then lowered his mouth to him, Deacon’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his head from the pleasure. Talk about reading someone wrong. How long had Mac been wanting to do _that_?

“Oh fuck… _fuck_ , MacCready…”

Mac had a hand on his thigh as he sucked him, the other working at his own fly as he _needed_ relief from the restriction of his pants. Deacon’s hands gripped the mattress for purchase, trying to keep himself still instead of fucking the other man’s mouth like his cock was urging him to do. Mac made appreciative sounds as he sucked down Deacon’s cock.

Nora watched with an appreciative hum at Deacon’s shoulder. God they looked hot together. Watching the way expression moved fluidly about Deacon’s face, she could see just how good it felt to him. It made her happier than expected to watch them together, a blooming hope for a life after this-- all three of them- living together, loving each other, and just _being_ there… To think she'd find such happiness in a bombed-out version of the world she once knew two-hundred years ago was almost silly.

Deacon felt Nora threading her fingers with those he clenched into the mattress. He shut his eyes in the pleasure of being watched, of feeling her lips at his neck, being with her, of getting a _hell_ of a blowjob from MacCready himself... 

He was going to embarrass himself, not last long at all with the feel of Mac’s lips around him and his tongue sucking him. How in the hell was he so damn good at this? Or was it _because_ it was MacCready, and he'd wanted this for so long? Fuck if he knew.

“M-MacCready… heh… oh hell… I'm close handsome… that's so good… _fuck_ …”

Mac hummed in his mouth with closed eyes and a stuttered moan, a hand stretched out to urge Deacon’s hips closer as he took the other man deep. Deacon was coming only moments later with choked cries, watching the way Mac swallowed him down and hummed in pleasure as Deacon cursed and shook. 

The younger man smiled up at him as he pulled off, licking his lips and breathing hard as he looked at Deacon. The spy was breathing hard himself, and immediately dragged MacCready up to his mouth with one hand to kiss him. He could taste the bitterness of his own release on MacCready’s tongue for just a few moments, and then it was gone. “Oh _MacSweetie_ … let me take care of you how you like,” Deacon said against his lips, mellowed and feeling _good_ and just bright with satisfaction and the urge to return the favor.

The merc lazily smiled back and held the other man close, looping an arm to drag Nora into the hug as she snickered. He chuckled a little in his throat, wondering if she already knew, and kissed Deacon again. “Don't need to, already did.” 

Deacon raised an eyebrow as he looked between them, seeing the other man's softening cock. Mac must've taken care of himself, already come before Deacon could get his hands and mouth on him. _Damn_. He'd been that turned on, huh? Maybe another time. 

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to Mac’s face. “Oh sweetheart...”

“This… this is perfect,” Nora told them, leaning heavily against Deacon and holding on to Mac’s shoulder from under his arm as both men caught their breath. She rubbed her face affectionately into Deacon’s shoulder while her hand kneaded Mac’s. She wasn't wearing anything on her lower half, and both their cocks were out and softening against their thighs, but she was more comfortable and happy than anyone in such a situation should be. “I'm just so happy and-- This is perfect. Better than a dream.”

Mac snickered, a lazy smile on his face as he continued to lean into Deacon with heavy satisfaction. “Yeah, well, you're definitely not asleep.” 

“Mac, kiss me?”

The sniper obliged her, and she caressed his face and throat with her hands. He kissed down her neck, and moments later Deacon was already claiming her lips with a quick kiss. He pressed another to her cheek as she murmured happily.

“Mm… I love you,” she told him.

“Oh baby…” Deacon kissed her again before turning her head towards Mac.

She kissed the sniper again as well, kissing the side of his face and whispering how much she loved him too. He whispered it back, and hugged the both of them before getting up proper to put his cock back in his pants and take up on Nora’s free side.

She sighed happily, not even thinking of covering up. “Can we rest?”

“Hell yeah gorgeous. Anything you want,” Deacon promised her.

“That was… soooo nice guys. I still want you… but _goddamn_ that was nice.”

“It was,” Mac murmured with a smile, moving as they got comfortable enough to lay down together, cuddling close without even saying anything.

“I just love you both so much... This- this makes me happier than I thought I could ever be.”

“Aw baby.”

“I thought I'd have to choose-- and I couldn't-- couldn’t-- I love you _both_ -”

“This is for the long term, so don't worry,” Mac stated matter of factly without even looking at Deacon. “Both of us.”

“That is one-hundred percent correct baby,” Deacon agreed, pleased as punch and wanting to kiss the sniper into the mattress for those sentiments. He'd hold off on that for now though. “Couldn't get rid of us if you wanted to. Like an ugly table lamp everyone keeps regifting back to you.”

Nora snorted and then cuddled up to Mac, dragging an arm behind her to drag Deacon prone against her. They cuddled close, exchanging soft kisses and gentle touches and sweet words.

Nora fell asleep pretty quickly while Mac and Deacon shared a cigarette in the lazy afterglow. It was nice.

“You know, you surprise me,” Deacon said pleasantly, taking a drag off the cigarette before passing it to the other man.

“Yeah? How?”

“I didn't think you'd just--” Deacon motioned a bit low, still a little in awe at one of the best blowjobs he'd gotten in a long time. “Take the bull by the horns, so to speak.”

Mac snorted, pausing in taking a second puff off the cigarette, raising a brow at Deacon. “Why?”

“I thought… maybe… I mean you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length pretty long, and then you get at- well, not _arm’s_ length, but--”

Mac snorted and stopped him. “You're intimidating as a bedfellow. And I've wanted to do that for longer than you've known,” he said smugly. At Deacon’s puzzled look, he rolled his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be good at picking up on this kind of stuff?” he teased as he held the cigarette between his lips.

“What?” Deacon squawked. “Wait what?” There were a lot of things in that sentence Deacon had issue with, but the one that stood out and infuriated him most was the part where Mac found _him_ too intimidating to approach. ...As if he could have been enjoying the sniper a lot sooner. “ _I’m_ intimidating? Me? I'm always hanging all over you and _I'm_ the one hard to approach? I thought you were some big bad wasteland merc scared of nothin’.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Mac said with pleasure at being described thus. He passed the cigarette back to Deacon, and the older man took a furious drag. Probably shooting looks at Mac from under the sunglasses if the annoyed tightness at his lips was to be understood. “You flirt with _everyone_ for fun, you hang off _everyone_. I thought I was getting the wrong idea by your handsiness, and… maybe I didn't want to risk you laughing at me and not doing those things anymore if I tried to take you up on it…”

“Jesus MacCready…” He felt kind of like an asshole as it was clear he'd been putting Mac through special hell. Another casualty of his goddamn persona. He needed to-- well, eventually he could work up to the words. But he needed to be more demonstrative about how he felt. This couldn't be healthy. He probably could have saved them all a whole lot of trouble if the things that came out of his mouth were more truth than bluster and bullshit. 

Mac smirked at him. “You play any role you want pretty damn good, what am I supposed to think? You're a pretty good bullshitter... I thought it was-- I don't know what I thought… Right now though, I think I do.”

“I like you plenty MacCready. That's not an act.”

“I'm glad.”

“You uh… _you_ like _me_?” he asked a little insecurely, needing to hear it; that he wasn't _still_ mistrusted, even if he’d just sucked him off.

“Yes, I do,” Mac said with a grin. “Not that that would matter. I don't have to like you to want you.”

“You are inflating the _hell_ out of my ego here, buddy.”

Mac grinned. “You're attractive. It's intimidating.”

Deacon grinned back, and as he passed the cigarette, he caught Mac’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. The sniper snickered and took the cigarette, putting it back between his smiling lips.

Mac placed a hand on Nora’s forehead, still shocked he'd had that same hand up her shirt and her crying out his name not an hour earlier. God what a week.

She was still warm under his palm.

“I hope we didn't set back anything,” Mac said with a fond smile. He snorted to himself. “...kiss it better indeed...”

“You kiss her with that mouth of yours and it'll be all over,” Deacon said with a lopsided grin. He bet the other man could make Nora come apart if his blowjob skills were any indicator. 

He’d like to see that, actually...

“Heh, maybe,” Mac said with a blushing grin. He passed Deacon the cigarette again, feeling damn good with that delicious tiredness that only good orgasms brought. The other man took a final drag before snubbing it out on the wall behind them. “Let's let her sleep for a while, and try to figure out how the hell we're walking out of here. Because I'd like to do that again, and I don't think we _should_ down here.”

Deacon only chuckled in pure agreement.

They talked about their options concerning the suits, voices low but waking Nora enough for her to roll over and pull Deacon down for a kiss before cuddling back up and dozing back into sleep. 

“...She’s still hot.”

“And how,” Deacon joked, though he pressed his lips to her forehead and felt the warmth still coming off her as Mac chuckled lightly. His own skin had since cooled under his shirt, and he was enjoying the nicotine high from their shared cigarette. He looked back at the sniper with a little smirk. “Probably just really got her blood pumping. Let’s let her sleep it off. If we can figure something out in the next hour or so she’ll probably be ready to leave by the time we have our plan set up.”

Mac laughed lightly at that. “Sounds good to me.”

They let her sleep between them, proposing plans both realistic and extraordinary. Though Mac thought the idea of them riding bareback on deathclaws out of there was amusing, the very real problem of only two-suits, even with enough rad-X to choke a glowing feral, still ate at them.

“Think we could scavenge anything out in any of those buildings?” Deacon proposed. “Fix her suit and hoof it north?”

“Maybe… though we’ve already hit a few of them the first couple times out here looking for Virgil. Not sure what we’d hope to find.” He frowned in thought. “And those Atom nutjobs are a lot more active out here than you’d think…”

“Hey, if _they_ can waltz around the deathclaw and radscorpion-infested glow, surely we can.”

Mac felt a sick feeling in his gut as he remembered Deacon pinned by the ferals. “Yeah, maybe. We don’t have a ton of ammo to make a decision lightly, though.”

Deacon hummed in response, looking down at Nora cuddled into his chest. She was sleeping with her mouth open, pantsless, and curled up between the two with Mac’s hand on her hip and her own hand up Deacon’s shirt. Even in a shitty situation like this, he was happier than he had any right to be, and god but he wanted to do right by her; right by this whole fucked up situation. 

They needed to get her out of here.

“We’ll figure it out,” Deacon said, brow furrowed as he wasn’t sure _how_. “We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::EDIT:: This is by no means abandoned in any way, btw :) Anyone subscribed to my author profile will see I'm quite active :) Just a busy bartender spreading herself too thin but we'll get there. I never abandon anything, so please continue to comment!! I really appreciate it and it helps!! :D
> 
> So i've been operating this entire time with the knowledge of what's wrong with Nora, and also mitigating some of it to throw ya'll off >:D but im very curious to hear what you _think_ is happening... Cuz im not sure when we'll actually have that be revealed (maybe in three more chapters? idk) and like going past that it'll be like OH WELL OKAY for re-reading... but for the moment i wanna hear your theories and see if you've caught me >:D i highly highly doubt it tho hahaha it is.... not obvious what is happening, nor common (if you want me to tell if you're correct or not let me know xD...and then everyone else avoid the comments for spoilers ahahaha) 
> 
> Might be a little more obvious with the next chapter after this which will pick right back up where this left off :3
> 
> Anyways please leave comments if you're reading! :D Quite a few of you sneakily subscribed and silent... i see you ＿〆(。。)
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the serious delay in getting this chapter out X_X I kind of wrote myself into a corner and it took the distance of time to get myself out of it but i've got the writing flow back x_x hahah I tend to write in snippets for the future, so basically I screwed myself over and literally backed into a corner haha xD We're all good now, folks! 
> 
> ...Any guesses as to what's wrong with Nora still? >:3 hint: it kills a quarter of a million americans a year and is why I get especially edgy with any cuts I tend to get at my nasty ass bar ahahhaa!
> 
> ...its gonna be so damn anticlimactic by the time of the reveal LOLOL t(ツ)_/¯

Nora roused enough between the two much later to hear Mac’s soft tones responding to the rumble of Deacon’s voice she heard in his chest. 

She hummed in her throat and cuddled close while their conversation paused, and then she felt warm hands on chilled skin. It felt nice. Comforting.

“Heya, sweetheart. Get enough rest?” Mac’s voice, accompanied by the hand that was idly rubbing her flank beneath the scratchy blanket. She could feel the callouses from his rifle, and it made her smile.

“Mmm…” she hummed, pressing her face flat into Deacon’s chest.

“Or enough for the moment,” Deacon amended with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She felt a bit chilled even between them, and dug the arm slung over Deacon under his shirt. The man hissed as her cold fingers made contact, and Mac only laughed.

“Get ‘im, Nora,” the sniper said with amusement.

“ _Christ_ your hand’s cold,” Deacon said as she rubbed her palm against his skin, and he moved his entire body closer to warm her as she just chuckled.

“Mm hmm,” she murmured tiredly into his shirt before looking up at him with a smirk. She could feel Mac’s hand stopping it's idle back-and-forth, only for him to spread his fingers wider on her thigh and pull close. Deacon also moved in a bit tighter until she was pressed snuggly between them. The extra body heat was nice. “Mm-hm-hm…” she chuckled in her throat. “...neither of you move, and I'll just live right here, okay?” Both men chuckled, and she stretched a little between them. “How long have we been sleeping?”

“You’ve been out more than a few hours. _Some_ of us have wandering hands though, and wake others up from much-needed beauty-sleep,” Mac’s voice came from behind Nora, a smile evident in his tone.

“I was checking on you,” Deacon said with an unrepentant grin.

“With your mouth.”

Nora snorted and pushed her head into Deacon’s chest with a smile. “I’d be mad I missed the fun if I wasn’t so damn tired...”

Mac pressed a kiss to the back of her neck with a chuckle. “You just rest as much as you want, beautiful.”

She snatched his hand from where it rested on her thigh to wrap his arm snugly around her in a hug, clasping his hand against her chest where she gave it a squeeze with her free hand. “You just wait ‘til I'm back to one-hundred percent...”

“What a frightening prospect,” Deacon said with a grin at Mac. Nora snorted and gave him a look. It made the man’s grin widen. “What? You're a force to be reckoned with is all.”

She snorted and stretched again, cuddling closer. “...I'm gonna have Mac tie you down one of these days and have my way with you.”

Deacon gulped and the sniper shot a grin at him over Nora’s shoulder, more than interested in the idea. What a proposition indeed. One that made his pants a little tighter if he let his mind go to town with _that_ little scenario.

Best not to dwell on it.

“Don't threaten _me_ with a good time.”

Nora snorted again and hugged him, pleased when Mac kept his hand between her breasts as both her arms went around Deacon. She liked him cuddled all close. Could feel both men’s hearts beating on either side of her, and certain Mac could feel the thrum of her own. If she _did_ die down here, she wouldn't even be especially upset about it as she finally, _finally_ got something she desperately wanted. “...I'm so happy,” she started, “like you don't even know how happy I am. I didn’t think— ...I’m just so happy.”

Mac nosed about her hairline with a too-sweet smile, and Deacon’s grin was a mile wide. 

“Nora…”

“Sweetheart…”

Her pleased hums became chuckles as either man aside her pressed kisses to her face and neck, followed by what she was pretty sure was the best hug in the entire irradiated world. Two pairs of strong, capable arms around her and their warmth... It made everything up until now just about bearable.

Mac made a sudden, startled noise, and Nora turned her head behind her with an inquisitive look. “What was _that?”_

“Deacon grabbed me.”

She turned back to see the shit-eating grin on the spy’s face, and judging by how far-slung his arm was-- and the way he playfully waggled his brows- his hand was probably on Mac’s butt. Nora snorted and smiled into Deacon’s chest as the man himself snickered and Mac fidgeted. Probably copping a feel. But if Mac had any complaints, he was keeping them to himself. 

Nora turned her head back a little to angle towards Mac, a playful smirk on her face. “Want me to do something about it?”

“Hey--”

“Nah, I don’t think he deserves a reward for bad behavior,” Mac teased, giving Nora’s neck a kiss.

“You haven’t even begun to see me on my bad behavior, Creaders,” Deacon chuckled, his words punctuated by another squeeze to the sniper’s ass that made Mac jump.

Nora snickered between them a little, enjoying the light banter and touches; the casual intimacy of it all. If she closed her eyes and ignored the fact they were in a cave, she could almost believe everything was _normal_ again. “...I love this.”

“Deacon grabbing my ass?” Mac asked with a laugh. 

“Not as much as _he_ loves it,” Deacon interjected, instead using the hand around MacCready to hug the pair of them. The sniper pleasantly hummed in his throat, and Nora bodily shivered, hopeful thoughts to a future she wasn’t expecting beginning to take shape, and she wanted badly for it to be real.

She cleared her throat, staring at the weathered, stained collar of Deacon’s t-shirt, and her eyes trailed up his throat to appreciate the expanse of skin. It made her _want_ something fiercely, desperately aware of their arms around her and the fondness in their voices as they lightly teased each other. She couldn’t get enough of this, and needed some kind of affirmation that they were all on the same page here. “Um… Can we talk seriously?”

“Uh-oh,” Deacon joked, earning a smile as her worried eyes looked up at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, eyes behind his sunglasses seeing MacCready just as attentive and alert to what she might have to say. “You say what you need to, baby. We’re all ears, right?”

“Well, some of us are more ears than others,” Mac teased Deacon as he gave Nora a punctuating squeeze just to rib the spy.

“I know you’re just jealous of my super-cool spy skills, so I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment.”

MacCready laughed and Nora smirked at that, the tension she knew she’d just brought up somewhat lessened. If they _were_ on the same page like they’d said, then with everything considered, and everything she’d said, it shouldn’t come as too jarring a request... “Can… If we get back, _can_ we find-- just, _somewhere_ that people will _stop_.” She didn’t meet either of their eyes out of shame as she more or less announced she’d given up on the rest of the commonwealth. She didn’t want to be _The General_ anymore. She didn’t want much of anything except the two men besides her. “I don’t-- I don’t have a lot left in me…”

Not an unreasonable request whatsoever in Deacon’s eyes, and she _had_ to still be in shock over everything. She’d just liberated the entire goddamn commonwealth, and was personally responsible for the extermination of a shitton of mutant nests and raider strongholds throughout settlement territories. If the people of the commonwealth couldn’t keep what she’d given them, then maybe they didn’t deserve it. “No _if_ about it, boss. We're gonna get out of here and back to Sanctuary, and then wherever you want after that.” He inclined his head towards Mac on the other side of her so the sniper would know he was looking at him from behind his sunglasses for some sort of consensus. The other man had a fond smile on his face.

They were indeed on the same page. 

“And we won’t let anyone bug you in the meantime, if that’s what you want,” Mac proposed as he drew his attention back to Nora, eyes darting to Deacon’s face again for the older man to nod in approval.

“Yeah,” she murmured in agreement, face a little hot. They were all she needed and all she wanted, and the idea of _getting_ that… Well, it was like the treasure at the end of the big irradiated rainbow. “Yeah, just… _can_ we? _Just_ each other?”

Deacon kissed her forehead in promise, again thinking just how monumentally he’d let her down. “Sounds perfect to me,” he said seriously, dropping the teasing from his voice. “We’ll get a cat, nice big library, and a _huge_ sign telling everyone else to go away or Mackers here will snipe them down.”

Mac snorted at that, chuckles taking him even as he intoned that he liked that idea himself. 

The hopeful note in Nora’s voice was palpable, and they’d have to be deaf and dumb to not realize just how badly she needed a damn break from what life had thrown at her. “ _Really?”_

“Yeah,” Deacon promised, looking at Mac for repetition of his agreement.

“Yeah of course. You don't owe anyone _shit_ , Nora.”

Deacon chuckled at the swear, slightly teasing the other man, but their focus was clearly on reassuring her. The casualness with which they agreed to only live with each other got her heart beating a bit wildly between them.

“I--” she paused, looking at both of them for confirmation before she got her hopes up, heart beating wildly in her chest as everything she ever wanted was _just_ within her grasp. She needed to be certain beyond a shadow of a doubt; she couldn’t take any disappointment from confusion. She literally couldn’t. “...The three of us...? Like together-together, right? I'm… I’m not reading any of that wrong,” she asked with cautious uncertainty, hope against hope. Playful declarations aside, she _needed_ to know they were serious.

“Well, yeah,” Mac said matter of factly as if anything _but_ that was even a possibility. She was in love with the pair of them, and Mac really liked Deacon despite himself. And many hands made for less work, and far more fun besides. He wanted to try. He looked at the other man. “I mean, well, the _four_ of us once I can bring Duncan down... But yeah. I’d like that a lot. Right, Deacon?”

“Oh man… If you knew even the _half_ of what’s been going on up here, you wouldn’t even ask,” the spy said as he tapped his forehead with a smartass grin. 

MacCready rolled his eyes with exaggeration. “It’s probably just stuff about hats…” Mac said dismissively, though his smile was playful. It got a laugh out of Nora at least, and he was thankful for her good spirits. “That’s all that’s ever running through your head, I’m pretty sure,” he teased.

Nora snorted, hugging Deacon with a smirk as Mac teased him. She was amused that _he_ was so amused by Deacon’s little hat fetish, no guilt at all for sharing that little tidbit, and the playful way they spoke gave her even more hope. She _hadn’t_ imagined things on the road-- the way they worked well together; got along even with arguments- and both were a lot more flexible than she had previously assumed.

Then again, the wasteland was still throwing surprises her way, and what she once knew wasn’t necessarily the way of the land anymore. She was dismally comforted by the fact that if she _didn’t_ get out of this cave, they might at least have each other. 

Deacon’s arm flexed about the pair of them, a toothy grin on his face. “Since when are you privy to the inner machinations of my mind, Creaders?”

“Since you're so obnoxious and about as subtle as a grenade to the face,” the merc said sourly. That got a bark of laughter from the older man, but Mac chuckled and moved a bit to resettle closer to Nora so he could work an arm over Deacon as well. “I know what I want, even _if_ you're annoying and whiny and talk way too freakin’ much. So count me in.”

Deacon snorted, Nora started crying, and both of them dropped their little antagonistic banter to focus on soothing away the tears. She clung to arms and backs as they both tried to comfort her, shushing tears and kissing hands and telling her it was alright and that yes, they’d all be together if she could put up with them both. She’d sure as hell been through enough shit for other people that it was high time she got to be the priority, and the two of them together could definitely make that happen.

“I'm just-- that makes me _happy,_ ” she croaked out in shock, feeling foolish for crying over being _happy_ of all things, and burying her embarrassed face in Deacon’s chest as she pulled herself closer to him. It was overwhelming to feel so damn happy, especially considering… well, _everything_. She didn't know how to handle it, but having both men tightly flanking her and promising her the world was a damn good start. “I didn’t think I’d-- I feel _happy_.” She sniffed and tried to stop her tears, even if she was smiling through them.

“Damn boss don't cry. You'll make _me_ start crying, and that is an _ugly_ thing, let me tell you. A real piece of work,” Deacon relayed as he stroked hair from her face. “I cried after getting a splinter fighting a supermutant once and he refused to make eye contact with me after. _Really_ awkward, wouldn’t even fight me after that. Like, it's not pretty. My crying, that is.”

He succeeded in making her chuckle, and she pressed a kiss to his chin before awkwardly turning in the close space so she could hug Mac. Deacon laughed and gave her room to do so before closing back in behind her and spooning close. He told his damn body it was not the time to get all excited over holding her, and told _her_ it was okay to cry if she wanted to; it was prettier than him doing it anyway. It got a little laugh from her.

“I just love both of you so much,” she said unguardedly, truthfully as she held herself to the merc at her side. It needed to get out. The more she said it, the more she _needed_ to say it. To _hear_ it being said. It felt more real. _She_ felt more real; out of time, out of place, everything changed for the worst including herself. 

But there was still _this_ , and it gave her much-needed hope.

“It’s way more than mutual, Nora,” Mac spoke as he pressed a kiss to each cheek, tasting salt and hoping they could somehow make everything better. They’d definitely failed in not being by her side _after_ everything had come tumbling down. They weren’t going to make that mistake twice.

Especially not with two of them around.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Deacon promised, breath warm on the back of her neck. “Literally _nothing_ left in the commonwealth we can’t take on, right? Except maybe farming. I gotta admit, I’m kind of shit at it.”

“You’re not getting out of it that easily, Deacon,” Mac warned, his words getting a watery laugh from Nora. 

“It was worth a shot,” he said unrepentantly, smirking.

They laid there a bit longer, Nora’s tears eventually drying, trying not to wind one another up and being careful of where and how they touched. It wasn’t easy of course. Nora was Nora after all; perfect and gorgeous and strong and tough as nails. There’d be plenty of time for everything else later. For now, she needed comfort and support.

Nora was thinking of her life-- the before one, and now this one- of everything she'd done, what she'd _become._ She was thrown into this world and had to hit the ground running before she even knew what was what. But now… Now she could have a say in what her life was going to be… especially as everything attaching her to her past was effectively destroyed. And she’d had a hand in _that_ as well.

She wished she could forget it all.

“So... I'm actually pretty chilly…” Nora spoke muffled words into Mac’s chest, cuddled close and giving a look behind herself at Deacon. The light blanket over them wasn’t doing much, and she was still naked from the waist down. “Can you find me my pants, Dee?”

Mac gave the other man a shit eating grin as he made a big production of wrapping his arms better around Nora, the implication that he wasn’t going anywhere only making Deacon chuckle. 

“As much as I want to say it's a shame to cover up, personal warmth is pretty important,” Deacon joked as he gave Nora’s thigh a pat. He removed himself from the pair, and scooched himself down the shoddy mattress to locate her pants. “I made more soup if you feel up to eating. Probably warm you up, too.” He smirked as he tossed the pants over Mac, and ignored the squawk of indignity as he made his way to the cooking pot. “It’s definitely not as nice as the one Mackers made, of course, but it’s… edible.”

Nora hardly cared about that. Anything warm sounded great. “I could eat,” she said, trying to get to a sitting position. 

Mac helped her up, setting the pants aside as he looked at her with concern in his eyes. She was still pretty weak if her slowness was any kind of gauge. He put his hand right on her forehead, and she pressed into the warmth with a little smile and a hum. “You're still hot, boss.” He ignored Deacon’s snort of amusement at the phrase, the heat there rather concerning after so many stimpacks.

“Nah, feel here,” she said, taking his hand and putting it flat against her chilled, clammy thigh. It made his heart pick up speed a bit, but he ignored that as she was indeed chilled.

He hummed thoughtfully before giving her a squeeze, and then looked at her with a little smile. “Need some warming up?”

The smile slowly bled across her face like ink on wet paper, and she put a hand over the one he still had on her thigh. “That’s what the pants were for, but I’ll take all the help I can get.” She pulled him close for a kiss, loving the feel of his facial hair as he kissed her back, and then made him help her get her pants back on.

She was wobbly as hell when she went to stand. She held onto the sniper tightly as Mac told her maybe she ought to sit and let him do it. He could handle putting pants on her at least, even if his fingers wanted to wander a bit. 

Her lack of coordination also drew Deacon’s attention away from his dismal attempt at soup.

“Hey baby, you should save your strength,” Deacon spoke up with real concern over the pot he was standing over. Her smile as she used Mac to balance didn’t deter him. “That damn deathclaw nearly skewered you.”

“I haven't been vertical for days, Dee. I can put on my own pants… uh… with help,” she added as Mac was zipping her up with way more touches than necessary. She grinned at him and steadied her hands on his shoulders before drawing herself close for a proper hug, tucking her face in his neck as he hummed and held her close. It made moisture prick at her eyes that she quickly blinked away, but his arms around her and the murmur of love made something excited squeeze in her chest, and she pulled away with a sparkle in her eye. “That was way more hands than necessary. Taking a page out of Dee’s book?” she teased.

“I don't know what you mean,” the merc said with a smirk and a wink as he drew his hands over her waist to her ass. He laughed before pressing a kiss to her nose, and he helped her get comfortable back on the bed. 

Truthfully, she was wobbly and weaker than she’d thought. Just standing nearly winded the hell out of her, and she was slightly dizzy. Though that might’ve partly been because she didn’t want him to stop touching her. “Will you sit with me?”

“You got it,” Mac said, sitting himself back against the wall before pulling her close beside him. 

“Okay, so as far as a five-star meal goes, it still needs work, but it’s a start, right?” Deacon said as he brought over the bowl of his own concoction, presenting it like a pre-war waiter, though he wore a sheepish grin. 

Nora wasn’t a stranger to his cooking skills, and while not a _total_ exaggeration, fuel was fuel and food was food. “Thanks,” she said as he passed it, and the older man made himself comfortable there as well, pondering aloud what he might do with a proper fondue kit and pre-war kitchen. Mac intoned that all the pre-war tech in the _world_ wouldn’t make a difference, and the exaggerated expression of offense on Deacon’s face nearly made Nora choke on the soup laughing.

Deacon took the half-empty bowl once she’d had enough, glad she’d been able to get _some_ down at least, though not surprised she couldn’t finish it all. It didn’t taste _that_ great. “You don’t want anymore?”

“I'm good,” she murmured. Deacon gave a snort, and she looked at him with a genuine smile, resting her forehead against the side of Mac’s jaw. The sniper pressed a kiss to her head as she spoke to the spy. “That's not a dig at your cooking skills, by the way. I’m just really not that hungry.”

“Your lying could use some work, boss,” the spy chuckled as he got up to dish himself some of the flavorless soup. As a broth it wasn’t so bad, but otherwise… Well, there was a reason he was a spy instead of world-class chef. “I should've barbecued this instead. Would've been good with salsa. Bet we could’ve whipped some up from those nasty flowers that grow out here.”

Nora laughed, and she cuddled closer into MacCready’s arms as he held her, breathing the labored breath of a satisfying meal. He reached one of his hands around her head to again land on her forehead, replacing it around her again as he held her. 

He gave her a look of concern. “You still feel alright?”

“Mm. Perfect,” she said with a smile as she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into his neck. “Love you.”

His chest swelled with pride and love itself, happier than he had any right to be at those words. “Not what I meant, but I love you, too,” he said softly, loving the weight of her in his arms and swearing to himself that he’d do right by her; _they’d_ do right by her. “I would've thought your fever should've gone by now... We should probably take it super easy ‘til your strength comes back.”

Her hand rubbed a few times into his back as she hugged him, then relaxed again. He hummed in his throat, and she smiled as she could feel it against her skin. “Still feel better than I did, but yeah, I kind of feel like crap.” She gave him a little leering smile. “And truthfully? I _really_ needed that.”

Mac’s smile turned into a shit-eating grin, and Deacon chuckled as he rejoined them.

“She just needs more home cookin’ and rest,” Deacon spoke up with a smile, though he fit his own hand against her forehead in concern. Mac was right. She was indeed hotter than he would’ve thought, everything considered. “Definitely more rest before we do _that_ again.”

She felt the old mattress shift, and then Deacon’s hand was on her back, big and warm and comforting. She pulled away from Mac to look at Deacon with a fond smile.

“Sure you're not hungry?” Deacon offered, trying to foist the bowl on her with a grin.

“If it'll reassure your cooking skills…” she laughed, taking the bowl and drinking a bit of the broth while Deacon made jokes about how they'd all starve if not for Mac’s more-agreeable prowess with a pot and pan. She passed the bowl back after a moment, the satisfaction of being full making her tired, and she held the arm Mac had around her with one of her own, reaching for Deacon with the other.

Deacon took a gulp of the soup in the bowl, not impressed himself with the mix, and decided he’d get his hands on some mirelurk steaks first thing once they left the glowing sea behind them. _After_ they got her to a doctor. “Sooo… I think we should talk about getting out of here… because there is a _lot_ I’d like to do to both of you and not enough deathclaw meat in the world to keep that kind of strength up.”

“Yeah no kidding,” Mac muttered with a grin as he held Nora close. She snickered, turning her face, and he kissed just below her ear before looking pointedly at Deacon. “We need to do something about this fever. She still feels too hot.”

Nora snorted but didn’t bother making the same joke again, tired and half-dozing against the young merc while she listened to both of them. She sighed as she felt Deacon’s hand come against her forehead again. As shitty as she felt, their fussing was nice; it was nice to be cared for instead of the one doing the caretaking for the entire commonwealth. 

Deacon removed his hand with a frown, speaking to Nora directly. “You really shouldn’t be this hot still after all the stimpacks we gave you…” 

Nora drew her gaze towards Deacon, thinking about how crappy she felt and how he was _right._ She’d tangled with deathclaws before. Maybe not to the degree of getting so badly cut open, but enough stimpacks usually did the trick. “How many stimpacks _did_ you give me?”

“Two.”

“And a half,” Mac reminded, cataloguing all the things they’d given her and all attempts to make her well.

“To close up this?” she said, a hand against her chest in meaning. 

Deacon snatched her hand up to press a kiss to the back of her palm. “Yeah, gorgeous, among other things. It should’ve taken care of your fever by now.”

“You had a pretty bad infection,” Mac informed. “I mean, I put some of that gunk on it--”

“ _Gunk?”_

“Mackers made paste from those blossoms out here,” Deacon said with a grin. “Cooking skills. Told ya.”

“The antimicrobial?” she asked, thinking that she remembered some sort of familiar scent, but then she’d been delirious at that point. He nodded and she gave another look down at herself. “Well that should’ve done the trick… I still feel like shit, though.” She turned her face back into Mac’s neck, and the merc gave Deacon a worried look as he hugged her. The spy frowned to himself, not wanting to entertain the idea that things could always get _worse._

“You had a piece of deathclaw stuck _in_ you, babe. You're gonna need more down time than just a few days to feel right again, I think,” Deacon said, giving her a pat. “Glad we got that shit out… Doesn’t explain why you still have a fever, though.”

“Yeah… Seriously, I do feel like crap…” she said, getting a little worried herself. It couldn’t be something as simple as the flu or a cold. Stimpacks took care of most minor illnesses, even if it was pricey to use them. But there wasn’t a lot else she could think of even in her pre-war life that would cause a fever. “Well, I’m pretty sure I lost a lot of blood… I got it mostly closed by the time I got back here, though,” she said, her hand against her chest again in thought. “That would explain why I’m so goddamn tired…”

“Maybe,” Deacon said, rubbing her thigh through her pants as his brain tried to think. “Mac gave you blood, though.”

Her mouth hung a little in confusion before the sniper quickly spoke up, cheeks going a little pink. “I gave you a blood pack; synthetic stuff, he means. I uh, I’m not a universal donor… at least not according to the Gunners.”

Yeah, she knew about their blood tests and the importance of synthetic blood on the battlefield. Gunners were about the only people to keep track of such things. It was a good thing he hadn’t given her any of _his_ without knowing her own. She squeezed his hand in appreciation. “For future reference, if we get out of here, I’m B-positive.”

“Be positive!! That’s a great motto right there, boss. Chin up and pants down and all that,” Deacon joked while Mac rolled his eyes. Nora snorted and entwined her fingers with Deacon’s own, the older man bringing their hands up to kiss hers before returning to rest on her thigh.

“I can’t think of anything else without other symptoms,” MacCready said worriedly, trying _not_ to think about the disease his son had just come down with out of the blue, and hoping there wasn’t anything else as sinister lurking out there with an equally hard-to-find cure.

Nora snorted a little unkindly to herself, feeling utterly utterly stupid for ever coming down here, and moreover, _how_ she’d gotten down here so fast in the first place. Maybe if she’d been thinking straight she never would have been surprised by that second deathclaw. “I mean…. Maybe it’s just withdrawals…?”

“Withdrawals?” 

Nora didn’t want to look at either of them, shame hot in her gut as she kept her eyes closed and her face pressed into Mac’s neck, hiding. “I uh… I did a lot chems… getting down here… I knew it was going to be tough and I just pushed a little too hard...”

Mac’s voice was soft, without judgment, reverberating in his chest as she kept herself close but wouldn’t look at either of them. “Sweetheart… Damn….”

Deacon’s hand squeezed hers in tacit support. He was the last one to judge the actions of a grieving mother who thought the men she loved didn’t care about her back. He’d fucked up; he was hardly going to judge her. “No, baby, one or two days even partying like Hancock does wouldn’t give you withdrawals like this,” Deacon spoke from experience he didn’t want to broach. His thumb stroked her hand, guilt eating at him again that lack of action on his part had driven her out here. He thought of her shredded suit. “You took rad-X while out here, though, right? You would’ve soaked up a truckload of rads after your suit was shredded.”

“I did, yeah. And no, it’s not radiation sickness,” she brushed off, remembering how sick she’d been first stumbling out of the vault. That was a lesson very quickly learned. 

At their combined silence as all tried to think, Nora felt a slight panic well-up in her; that she’d finally gotten a taste of what she wanted, and it was going to be snatched away just like everything else if she didn’t get out of this damn cave. Suddenly a little radiation poisoning didn’t sound so bad. “I-I think we shouldn’t wait too much longer. Let’s just… get some rest and _leave.”_

“Nora, baby, you can barely walk.”

“We have any Jet? Buffout?”

“No way--”

“And we don't have three radiation suits anyways,” Mac said, shooting a rueful look towards the mess Deacon had tried to salvage on the workbench.

“You’ve got lots of rad-X though, right? I can just take a ton and--”

“Come on, boss. When is that ever an option out here? You’d go full ghoul before we even reached the boundary.” 

She shook her head, blinking back tears of panic. She was going to die in this cave and leave the pair of them behind. “Fuck I was so stupid to come here…” She looked at Mac, the sniper having been down here more than once with her. “I'd rather die trying to get back than here in this cave, Mac. We know the area pretty well… I’m sure we can just _go.”_

“You're _not_ gonna die, Nora.”

She offered a disagreeing smile. “Two stimpacks should've killed the fever if that's all that's wrong with me. And honestly, I don’t feel like myself...”

“Baby, you've been through the ringer,” Deacon pointed out. “Cut yourself some slack, okay? We’ll figure this out. A solution that _doesn’t_ involve soaking up hundreds and hundreds of rads.”

“Look, I can still walk right now,” she argued. “Load me up on a few chems and it'll probably be just enough to get us out of here. Long enough until we reach the outskirts. If we wait, I won't be able to get out. I know I won't,” she told them desperately.

“If you're as sick as you _think,_ giving you chems is the _last_ thing we should do,” Mac pointed out stubbornly. “You just need rest.”

“I’ve _been_ resting. You’re gonna end up having to carry me out of here, at this rate.” Both were silent, and she huffed in fear. She looked between them. “I can still _stand._ But I’m tired. I’m so damn tired, we should just go.”

“We don't have a third rad suit _without_ holes, Nora, so we need to come up with something else,” Mac told her, voice a bit combative as he _really_ didn’t like how things were looking, or the mounting fear in her voice. It wasn’t like her. It was a tone he hadn’t heard since the first week she’d hired him on. 

“Well just wear yours and I can duct-tape mine or--”

Deacon squeezed her hand, voice more level-headed than either of them, though he felt the same as Mac. “We’re not letting you go out into that without a proper _suit_ , Nora.”

“You might have to,” she said without pleasure. She gave Deacon’s hand a squeeze back. “I'm not-- I don’t _want_ to do this… fuck this is what I get for coming down here.”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out, alright?”

“I don’t know,” she worried, the conversation itself tiring her out. “I’m just being realistic. We should walk out of here. Once everything out there is asleep.”

“You’re gonna end up passing out and falling into a crater,” the merc groused, earning a slightly amused look from Deacon.

“That's just a chance I'll have to take.” She pressed a kiss to Mac’s jaw, his attitude prickly at the things she was proposing. They’d never be in this situation if she hadn’t come down here. But then, she’d managed that all by herself, right? With the two of them with her, they could make it out. Even if she didn’t have a suit. “And you're forgetting I already killed two deathclaws by myself getting down here. It'll be a cake walk if you load me up on Jet and Buffout-- and you don’t have to say it, I _know.”_

“Cake walk through the Glowing Sea… You're not Rambo,” Deacon told her, his hand a bit tighter on her own.

“Who?” Mac asked.

“Grognak,” Nora offered with a humorless laugh. She looked at them plaintively. “I-I don't wanna die down here. I'd rather die at home if I'm gonna. Or trying to get there.”

“Stop saying that,” Mac said with aggravation, moving to resituate himself so he could hold her better, wrapping both arms around her and tucking her into his chest. He gave Deacon a long-suffering look, reaching for him, and the other man joined in the hug, trapping Nora between them and comforting each other over hard decisions.

Nora sighed. “Well what do you think we should do? Because I don't see a lot of options,” she said with a humorless laugh.

“Well… there are still a few buildings we could check out here for supplies. We didn't take _everything_ last pass through.”

“How many rounds do you have between you, Mac?” At his frown, she pressed her cheek against his own. “Can't risk wasting it on supplies that might not even be there, honey. I don’t have much left myself… We should just try to sneak out of here… keep to the main road. A few tabs of buffout would keep me going until we're out of the hot zone… You should’ve seen what I could do on a few shots of espresso and cold medicine back in the day…”

Deacon and Mac looked at each other, the same worry writ on their faces as they held onto her and each other. Dismal didn’t even cut it. “Let's just focus on rest right now, okay?” Deacon said. “I promise we’ll come up with something that _doesn’t_ involve you taking more rads than a supermutant on holiday.”

“I don't--” she stopped herself from further argument. Mac had a scowl on his face even as he held her, and she was certain Deacon probably looked equally as stoic and upset at her back. 

They cared a great deal. She knew they did, and that’s what was also making this so damn hard.

She chose to trust in them figuring something out, because if she got much weaker, she wasn’t going to have much a say in things.

\--

Nora dozed between the pair of them, worry mounting both men as her fever didn’t abate, and her skin grew clammier. She was getting worse, it seemed, just like she’d feared. There wasn’t a lot of things that could do that out here, and they knew the best chance she had was getting her to a decent doctor.

That was hard with a million miles of radiation-soaked wilderness between them and help.

“This isn’t good, Deacon,” MacCready said, gently stroking her skin as she slept. Her brow furrowed in sleep, but she didn’t wake from his touch. He hoped her sleep was healing. The wasteland owed them a damn break. “If she gets much hotter, then I don’t know what to do…”

“Look… if she _can_ still walk out of here, maybe you _should_ take the suits, both of you get out, and I’d _appreciate_ if you came back for me… ya know… eventually,” Deacon said with a smirk.

That made Mac frown, reaching for the other man and gripping his arm. “Hey, we’re not leaving anyone behind. You said that yourself.”

The spy snorted. “Come on, Creaders. She’s right. She can still walk right now. You get her out, get some help at Somerville, and me and the deathclaw jerky can hang out here. Think of it like a mini-vacation. I’ll knit you a hat while you’re gone.”

“No.”

Deacon sighed, dropping all pretense as his gaze drifted to Nora’s face. She didn’t look good. “It’s a good plan, man,” he said honestly, not thinking they had much other choice to get Nora quickly out in one piece. “Not the best, but the best we’ve got. You can’t deny that. I figure I’ll be pretty comfortable for a week, and that gives you plenty of time to get her help and maybe gather a team to pick me up, yeah? Hell, I bet Garvey would be all for it. And if Hancock is still around Sanctuary, well, he said he _likes_ the glow. You can make it a rescue-party party.” Not that Deacon considered either of the men to be more than casually-disposed to lending him a hand. But if it got Nora out safely, he really didn’t care what happened to him, even if he didn’t make it back.

MacCready fixed him with a look of intense focus. “Were you serious before?” he asked pointedly, giving Deacon a deep frown that took the other man by surprise.

“Uh, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific, handsome.”

The nonchalance with which he responded only caused Mac’s frown to deepen, but he pushed on dourly. “About finding somewhere after this. Just us three. Were you serious?”

Deacon’s heart skipped a beat at the wary but hopeful gleam in the sniper’s eyes, and he already knew he was fighting a losing battle to get him to go. “Hell yeah I meant it. Every word.” 

“Then how in the _hell_ do you think we’re going to leave you behind?” Mac asked harshly. “We’re not leaving you. And anyways, what if she collapses? I can’t shoot shit-- _ugh….stuff_ if I have to carry her out of here. That deathclaw on the way here nearly got both of us.”

He had a point, the older man had to admit. “Okay… Okay, new plan: so we put her in your suit, you wear mine, I’ll binge some rad-X and carry her out of here while you shoot stuff.”

“Deacon _no._ She wouldn’t want that either.”

“Good thing she can’t complain about it if she’s unconscious, right?”

“Deacon…”

“I’m a lot more resistant than you think.”

“Not to radiation.”

“That’s why I said _binge_ the rad-X. I don’t know what the inverse of ghoul is, but I bet I can accomplish that if I take enough.” Deacon snorted at the idea. “It’s either that, or you two gotta hot-step it out of here as soon as possible, and I'd appreciate it if you came back for me sooner than later. There’s only so much of my cooking even _I_ can take.”

Mac took Deacon’s hand in his, giving him an earnest sort of look. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

The look in his eyes and the way he grasped him made Deacon’s heart speed up, something inside him twisting uncomfortably at the level of concern in those eyes. Oh, he was well on his way to being head-over-heels in love with the other man, that was for damn sure. “That’s really sweet-- I mean it, I might just have to write a sonnet about that- but you might not have a choice, MacCready.”

“Dea--”

“If it’s between Nora dying and me going ghoul, I’ll choose ghoulification any day of the week.” Mac didn’t press the argument further, but he was clearly not happy. Deacon just shrugged. “Heh, not like I haven’t been a ghoul before. Might be fun.”

\--

Nora still slept-- with intermittent rousing to drink water and try to press her with more broth- but the two men were starting to get antsy. There was nothing particularly useful in the cave to seal off her ruined suit, and the pros and cons of possible ways out of this shithole weren’t looking too bright.

Her fever was getting visibly worse, and it sent a special kind of terror through Mac. 

“Deacon…” the young merc spoke up.

The spy was messing with the equipment that institute scientist had left behind. Cell-analysis machines and other sciencey crap. Nothing they could particularly use. “Mm?”

“I’m getting really worried.”

The spy looked up, seeing the look of concern bordering on fear on Mac’s face that cut him to the core. He felt the same, but he didn’t voice it out of fear of the universe taking yet another jab at him for past misdeeds. He offered a smile he didn’t feel, and came to clasp a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “She’s stronger and tougher than all of us, right? We just-- it’s just a little hiccup. We’ll get out of here, bring your boy down, get that cat, and grow shit I don’t know how to cook, okay? She’ll pull through this.”

Mac gave a snort at that, one side of his mouth quirking in a half-amused smile, though he didn’t feel any better. He looked at Nora again, neither of them certain what was wrong and all their pondering aloud while she’d been asleep not doing much to comfort either of them. 

The merc sighed where he sat, leaning forward enough to drop his head on Deacon’s middle as the older man also stood near. The spy chuckled a bit humorlessly, and dragged a hand through the merc’s hair in trying to offer comfort without words he didn’t fully believe. 

The feeling was nice, Mac thought, as Deacon’s fingers brushed over his scalp, but it didn’t help much for the feeling of helpless urgency running through the sniper. “...We need a damn vertibird out of here is what we need.” He snorted to himself. “If only wrangling deathclaws was an actual option.”

Deacon’s fingers stilled in his hair, sudden thought taking him. “Wait, that's not actually half bad.” 

MacCready looked up at him like he’d finally lost it. “There is no way we’re wrangling deathclaws, Deacon.”

“No, no not that, I mean. The vertibird,” Deacon pointed out. “We might not even have to worry about suits and rads. She still has connections, right?”

The merc sighed. “Deacon, that is a _serious_ longshot. Especially after we blew up the Prydwen… Anyone left that has access to one is probably saving a bullet for her.”

Deacon ignored him as he removed himself from the younger man’s space, going back to the workbench and clearing a space. “Nah… No this could really work.”

It was a new idea, he had to give him that much, but Mac wasn’t convinced. “And how the hell do you propose we even signal them, huh? You can’t see flares this deep in here, and even if you could, no one would come. Trust me, I know.”

Deacon chose not to comment on that, knowing the first few times Nora had dragged the sniper down here hadn’t been the _easiest_ on either of them. “They won’t have to. We can send out a broadcast through that relay tower we passed on the way down here. You told me it still works, right?”

Mac’s brow furrowed as he felt himself getting hopeful and fought against it as he knew it was a lost cause. “It doesn’t amplify that far…” he said on a sigh, coming aside Deacon to lean against the workbench and also keep an eye on Nora. “You can’t even pick it up at Somerville.”

“We can make it work. If everything there is still up and running, I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he said with self-assurance, thinking of all the stuff they’d gotten up and running before Switchboard was attacked. Getting a simple radio signal pointed in the right direction? Yeah, he could do that. Hell, he could do that in his _sleep._

He offered the other man a genuine grin, an optimistic hand on his shoulder. “You trust me, right?”

Mac frowned at that, eyes looking at his own reflection in the older man’s sunglasses. “Deacon…”

“Come on now, Creaders, don’t get cold feet on me now.”

Mac put a hand over the one Deacon had on his shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze. He’d jumped on a deathclaw to try and protect him, after all. If that didn’t earn his trust, then not much else would. And it was for Nora, besides. He could trust in the other man. They had little else choice otherwise.

“Okay…” Mac sighed, earning a brilliant grin from Deacon. “Just how do you propose we do this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all still around because it has been a dog's age since i last updated X_X sorry! As long as ya'll are still around I'll keep going haha Again, sorry! Real world also got in the way of stuff, aaaand I had a bad couple of months in between there too :( 
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)  
> (Just an FYI: you'll need to be logged in to tumblr for my blog to show up since it's marked explicit :D)
> 
> Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! ao3 FAQ: [Can I post comments anonymously, or if I don't have an Archive account? ](https://archiveofourown.org/faq/comments-and-kudos?language_id=en#anoncomment)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so i really really hope it pleases D: Also, what's wrong with Nora was guessed by multiple people last chapter but i haven't responded to comments cuz i don't want to spoil it for anyone, and i thought it rude to answer any without addressing the guesses xD (if you don't care about spoilers, go check last chapter's comments AHAHAH) :D 
> 
> 23 pages of fic for ya'll to read ^___^ Can i get 23 words out of everyone in a comment if you're still here? :D ♡

Nora was having some sort of fever dream when Deacon’s voice roused her with a start. 

“Sorry baby, just me.”

She blinked a little, remembering where she was, and seeing Mac’s own face smiling at her nearby, remembered that both men were here _with_ her. She breathed in deeply, shaking off the dream as best she could. It was okay. She _wasn’t_ alone. 

“Dee… mmm I forgot where we were.”

“That’s alright, babydoll,” he told her, a hand going to caress her cheek. It made her smile and press into it, closing her eyes sleepily as she hummed. “We might have a way out of here, but we need your help.”

Nora opened her eyes with confusion as to if she’d heard him right. “What? Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

That woke her up considerably, and she tried to get herself into a sitting position when no sooner was Mac sitting beside her to help, and Deacon lended himself to also getting her upright. She felt weak, and was grateful for the support.

“How you feelin’, boss?” Mac asked, a gentle arm about her waist as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder and his hand rubbed at her hip.

“Still shitty, honestly… And why are you in your suit?” she asked with a minor flare of panic. Deacon wasn’t wearing one of the red radiation suits, but the sniper was geared up. Her heart picked up in concern that they were actually going through with her half-cocked idea to just run like hell out of there… and she couldn’t ignore the fact that Deacon wasn’t wearing one.

“He’s just antsy,” Deacon reassured with a teasing smirk that made Mac frown at him. The spy looked back to Nora, rubbing a hand up and down her thigh. “We have an idea to get us out of here, baby.”

“Thank god,” she said weakly, leaning back fully into Mac and closing her eyes a moment. She focused on the comforting warmth of the merc at her back; of Deacon’s big palm on her thigh. It felt really really nice to be touched so casually, but with an intimacy about it. They both loved her. Cared about her. If she’d ever doubted before, she was pretty certain now.

As Deacon’s hand stopped rubbing her thigh, she opened her eyes again to look at the spy. “What’s the plan? I… I might’ve lied about being able to hoof it out of here… unless you’ve got those chems,” she finished with a half-smirk. “...I… I _really_ feel like shit.”

Mac snorted behind her in distaste at that idea, muttering a pet name and pressing a comforting kiss to her cheek. Deacon pressed on. 

“No, nothing like that. You’re still friends with Scribe Haylen, right?”

Nora gave a furrow of confusion at the question. That was straight out of left field. “I… I don’t know. I mean, I helped deliver her baby but… After the Prydwen, I don’t know. Why?”

“That’s good enough for me,” Deacon said with a smile, ignoring the roll of the merc’s eyes behind Nora. Yeah, it would be a long shot, but it was the best they had. “How’d you like to be airlifted out of here, boss?”

She sniffed at the idea, a wry smile taking her face. “In a perfect world, yeah. But Haylen’s not even-- How are you gonna get a message out of the glowing sea, Deacon?” She could suddenly feel her heart skip a beat, a lump in her throat as she looked down at the red-clothed arm Mac had around her. Deacon didn’t know the glowing sea like MacCready did. She turned to look at the merc behind her, both arms going to his chest. “You’re _not_ gonna go out alone to try and find her? She’s-- The settlement they’re at is _days_ away, Mac,” she told him in a panic, both worried that she even had that long to wait, and the obstacles he might encounter _alone_ in the glowing sea. 

Both men were quick to soothe her worries. 

“Think I’d leave _this guy_ to have all the fun with you alone while I do all the work?” Mac slightly teased, his hand gently rubbing at her hip again as he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek in reassurance.

Deacon smirked, taking up one of her hands and pressing a kiss to her palm. “We had something better in mind,” the spy promised. “If you can record something on that pipboy of yours, I think I can send out an SOS for immediate pickup. How’s _that_ sound, baby?”

Nora huffed, indeed comforted that neither of them were leaving into the glow by themselves, but it sounded like a _serious_ long shot. “How are you going to get anything out of this place, Dee?”

“There’s that relay tower we passed on the way down here,” Mac spoke up behind her. “Deacon thinks he can rig it to get a signal to your settlement at Somerville. And anyways, it’s safer than trying to hoof it out of here.”

Nora frowned. She was hot and thirsty and tired and not entirely following. She wished she could wake up from this nightmare. “Haylen’s not _at_ Somerville, though. And that tower--”

“Nah baby, I know,” Deacon reassured, giving Mac a concerned look. “But Somerville is wired with the rest of the settlements, right? To your Minutemen station?”

“Yeah?” she said, finding it hard to follow his meaning.

Deacon frowned behind his sunglasses-- not at her, but at himself. “You uh… You didn’t mention coming down here to anyone else, did you baby?” Her cheeks went a little pink at that, and she chose to look at his hand holding hers instead of at his face. It was enough of an answer for him. “I didn’t exactly tell anyone where we were headed, either…” he admitted a little sheepishly, having more or less abducted MacCready in his verve to find her. 

“Everyone at Somerville was asking after you before,” Mac decided to interject, reaching for both of their hands with his own. He spread his fingers to cover the pair, earning a fond smile from Deacon. “When uh, when _we_ were asking after you…”

“If we can get a transmission to the settlers there, _especially_ if it’s your voice, the message will get to her. I’m positive,” Deacon explained. He offered a sort of sardonic laugh. “Day after the Institute is blown sky high, and you’re _missing?_ Garvey probably has every last Minuteman out looking for you right now. They’ll be monitoring the radio.”

That brought undue moisture to prick at Nora’s eyes, lip quivering just a bit, and Deacon decided to flank her and bring his arms about her and MacCready in a hug. She went willingly into the embrace, wrapping one arm around Deacon’s back, the other holding the one Mac had wrapped around her waist. 

“Deacon is gonna try to focus everything at that relay tower towards Somerville,” Mac said softly, the hand that had been holding both of theirs giving the older man’s shoulder a bolstering squeeze. “Haylen owes you one, and if those Brotherhood jerks had anything going for them, it was their sense of duty.”

Nora lightly snorted, a half-smile going to her lips as she hugged Deacon tightly. Mac was right. If the spy could indeed boost the signal somehow, it was worth a shot. “I guess… there’d be an answer pretty quickly if you could really make that work…” Nora mused tiredly, speaking into Deacon’s shoulder. “It would take a vertibird less than an hour to get out here with proper gear… So we’ll know if she _won’t_ come, too.”

“I mean, it’s something,” Deacon muttered to that idea, not liking the ‘benefits’ to the quick radio network the Minutemen had set up that would relay news fast. Quickly knowing they were properly abandoned wasn’t exactly his cup of tea either. “We’ll be real fast, you won’t even notice we’re gone.”

“And if we’re super quiet and careful, we won’t waste any ammo doing it, too,” Mac said. “So even if _she_ won’t come, we’ve still got options, beautiful. We’ll get you out of here.”

The assurance in Mac’s voice tugged at Nora’s heart. She pulled slightly away from Deacon so she could meet MacCready’s eye. She didn’t like it, but it was indeed the best shot they had. “Okay… Okay, just, don’t be afraid to _use_ your ammo. Please keep each other safe.”

“I won’t let anything happen to this guy,” Deacon spoke up, drawing their attention to the smirk on his face. “His butt is way too cute in army fatigues. The commonwealth would never forgive me,” Deacon quipped.

Mac blustered and Nora chuckled, leaning back heavily against the sniper once more and inclining her head for a kiss. Mac obliged her even if his cheeks were pink, and Nora relaxed against him once more, wanting to sleep, but ready for the plan. “Get my pipboy, honey. Let’s get it done.”

She made the message quickly before handing it back to Deacon, showing him how to use it and what it’s capabilities were. He wasn’t a stranger to the device, but she wasn’t exactly going to be able to answer questions if something came up out there.

“It’ll take us a hot minute to get out there, but we’ll be quick, boss,” Deacon said as he checked the state of his pack. 

They were both suited up, medicated with rad-X, and neither looked too happy about leaving her. Paltry ammo and a few grenades aside, at least they had the space in the pack to fill with anything that might help her that they could loot along the way.

“ _Please_ be careful. _Please_ ,” Nora begged as she laid on the makeshift mattress watching them. 

“Hey, we made it down here alone once already, right?” Mac said with a smirk.

She smiled back, reaching out for him with a hand he gladly held. “Just take care of each other, no matter what? This place is-- ….I’m so sorry you both came down here.”

“No sweetheart, don’t,” Mac said as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“We’d go to hell and back if you asked, baby,” Deacon stated with a fond look. “Just uh, don’t ask unless you have to, alright?”

Nora snorted, a little chuckle escaping her. She rubbed Mac’s gloved hand thoughtfully with her thumb. “This place _is_ hell, Dee.”

“Well, let no one ever say we don’t get around,” the spy laughed. “You just focus on rest and good thoughts, okay? Think of all the beds we’ll break once we get out of here.”

Mac snorted at that, biting his lips as Nora just smiled. 

“We won’t be gone too long,” Mac promised, sitting next to her with a thinking frown on his face. The hand not holding hers went to her forehead; he could feel the warmth even through his glove. He didn’t want to leave her, and it was bringing up a lot of memories of when he’d left Duncan in the capable hands of friends.

There was no one to stay with Nora, though, and leaving her to the turrets and mines outside wasn’t too big a consolation in place of a real person.

“Just be careful,” Nora whispered tiredly, thinking of all the close calls they’d had out there. “I’ll be fine for a few hours without a babysitter,” she chuckled. “Really though, stealth over speed, alright?”

“Yeah no kidding,” Mac said back, holding her close, breathing her in, and hoping to hell this worked.

Nora hugged him hard, fear warring with the trust that she knew Mac knew these parts about as well as she did. The Glowing Sea was hell on earth; she couldn’t help but worry. She didn’t want to consider the possibility that only one might make it back. Or worse, neither.

They’d be okay. They would. 

She pressed her lips to the merc’s, kissing him with everything she had. The warmth in his lips and scratchiness of his facial hair, their press against her mouth as he smiled was something she wanted to hold on to for as long as she could. Wanted to remember the mastery of those lips as they moved against her own. 

MacCready hummed pleasantly in his throat as she kissed him back, devising to slip a little tongue into the kiss that both took her by surprise and also made her sigh with a smile as they broke. He touched his head to hers, trying not to focus on the heat coming off her or just how worried he really was. They were trying to remain positive, all three of them. 

“Something for you to think about until we’re back,” the sniper spoke with a smile that would’ve charmed the pants right off her under different conditions. 

“You’re lucky I’m so damn tired, RJ MacCready,” she said with a smile back, pressing another kiss to his lips as she fondly palmed his cheek. “I might’ve made you finish what you started,” she wistfully teased, a somber smile on her face. “Please be careful, honey. Please, _please_ be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name,” the sniper said with a smirk.

“I thought it was Joseph,” she chuckled.

“You’re both wrong, his middle name is _sexy_ ,” Deacon said with a playful grin as he hooked Nora’s pipboy onto his forearm. “Well, ‘sexy-pants’ if we’re being accurate. You’re not fooling us, Mackers.”

Mac threw a red-faced grin and a laugh back at the older man, still not used to the flattering, genuinely-meant words, but pleased by them all the same. He turned back to Nora to kiss her one last time before getting up to make room for Deacon, giving the older man a quick press of his lips as well for his glib tongue.

“...Yeah, we’re going to wreck a _lot_ of bedroom furniture once we’re out of here,” Deacon promised as he watched Mac pass him before turning back to grin at Nora. She chuckled and reached for him as he came to sit beside her, kissing her hand. “We’ll get that tape up and fly out of here in style, baby. Just you watch.”

“Hug me,” Nora said as she tugged at him, worry eating at her as she could see the rip in Deacon’s suit. Duct tape would keep some of it out, but not much. “I want both of you back in one piece.” 

Deacon muttered something about looking best in a two-piece that made her smirk, and he brought his mouth to hers to really kiss her like he meant it.

Mac checked the remaining rounds in his rifle for the third time. If they were careful, things should be okay. They were bringing Nora’s pipboy with them after all, and the heads up about nearby threats would definitely give them an advantage. The sooner they got this done, the sooner they’d be picked up.

“We’ll be back soon,” Deacon promised as he broke from Nora’s lips, an arm around her waist and a hand stroking at her neck. He was hardly a praying man, but right now he wished for nothing more than her health while they were out there. “Nora… you know how much you mean to me, right?” Deacon asked with gravelly tones, something tight in his chest still burning through him. Letting her down again simply wasn’t an option. “How much I… I-I need you?”

“Yeah…” she said with a warm smile, pressing another kiss to his lips. “I love you, too.”

Deacon’s voice wavered. He wanted to say it. He really did, but something inside of him was convinced that if he said it now, it was only because he thought she might not last until they got back; that he wouldn’t ever be able to say it again to her. And that _terrified_ him. “Nora….I…”

“It’s okay, baby,” she soothed, eyes shining with both love _and_ fever. He’d come all the way down here after her, after all. If that didn’t make his feelings for her known, then nothing else would. “I-I get you. Just focus on getting that message out, yeah?”

Deacon swallowed and brought in for another hug. That simply wouldn’t do. He was being a damn coward about things. 

He spoke into her ear, voice barely a murmur as his face went horribly hot. “Nora… My real name is Johnny.”

She blinked at him a moment, uncertain if she’d heard him correctly or not, he was so soft-spoken. “W-What?”

“It’s Johnny,” he told her, a lump forming in his throat that made his voice more gruff. He brought his lips to her own, putting as much feeling as he could into it before finally breaking. “We’re gonna get you out of here, baby. I promise.”

Her heart was beating even faster as he looked at her from behind those damn sunglasses. She wished she could see his eyes; see what might be behind the expression on his face. That was… a very sensitive piece of information. And he’d just trusted her with it. “Deacon….”

The spy watched her, the way her eyes searched his face with minor insecurity, scanning even as she smiled. She was waiting for him to make some joke or pun; tell her it was bullshit and he had her going. 

Deacon closed his eyes tight and took a steadying breath before removing the sunglasses and giving her an uneasy look. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him with them off, of course, but it was rare when he _wasn’t_ wearing them like some kind of shield. The way her expression opened up in realization of his earnestness made his gut clench uncomfortably, but he knew without a doubt it was the right decision. “No bullshit or lies, sweetheart.”

She tugged him back down to her for one more kiss, her eyes getting a little moist. Deacon let her go and smoothed out the old blanket she was under, giving her a little smile before slipping the sunglasses back into place. 

He reluctantly got up, turning to Mac. The sniper had a sort of curious look on his face, but offered a half-smile of support as he held the helmet-portion out to Deacon. They both properly attached everything and stood to face Nora. 

“You look like moon invaders,” she said with a tired but teasing smirk.

“Maybe in another life,” Deacon said. “Hey, think I could pull that off? Convince everyone I personally know Jangles the moon monkey?”

“Probably…” Mac muttered with a grin, getting a chuckle from Nora.

“Just, be careful,” Nora told them for what was probably the hundredth time, but anxiety ate through her. 

They had her pipboy at least, and it wasn’t like she could even leave the cave if she wanted to at this point. They’d made it all the way here _without_ the benefit of a pipboy, after all. As long as they stayed sharp, they would be okay. She knew they would.

“We'll be back super soon, okay?” Deacon promised. “Just rest up, baby.”

“We'll be gone just long enough for a little nap,” Mac agreed, a growing smile on his face. “Try and take advantage of Deacon’s loudmouth being gone.”

That got enough chuckles and laughter from her that it was as good a note as any to leave on, especially with Deacon’s muttering to the contrary about _wanting_ his mouth present and accounted for, but he quieted as they trekked the tunnel out of the cave for the glowing hell ahead of them.

She watched the pair go, and hoped to anyone or anything listening that they were successful. 

\--

Deacon held his breath as Mac signaled for them to stop. 

The ancient piece of cement blocked their presence from a feral roaming leisurely by, and after a too-close call with a deathskull radscorpion, they couldn’t afford to lose any more time. The top of the relay tower was just seen over the next foothill, and they’d made it without incident thus far.

The pipboy on Deacon’s wrist alerted them to any other possible threats nearby, and they didn’t move again until the threat was passed. It was entirely convenient to have, and the snugness around Deacon’s forearm made it impossible not to think of Nora. It kept him overly-cautious.

Mac signaled for them to move out, and they crept quickly until they were inside the still-standing chain link fence surrounding the tower. Nothing around to worry about at the moment. 

“I sure hope to god this works,” Mac muttered as he kept an eye out while Deacon activated the control panel for the satellite array.

“I don’t think we should wait longer than thirty-six hours for a reply after we set this up,” Deacon said seriously as he fiddled with wires. “She can’t wait longer than that, I think.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Do you remember if they had a doctor at Somerville Place?”

“Not one that lives there,” Deacon muttered as he messed with wires. “But if this works, we can just get her back to Curie in Sanctuary. Or anywhere else for that matter,” he said with a grin. “First-class vertibird service. Not too shabby.”

Mac didn’t want to be pessimistic, but all he could think about was his boy, and how bad he’d gotten so quickly, and was scared Nora had something the wasteland didn’t know about. Some pre-war thing that stimpacks weren’t curing. _Or_ something her pre-war body couldn’t handle… though she was probably healthier than all of them, considering. “But if it doesn’t?”

Deacon spared a moment to shoot the merc a glance. He could see the anxiety there, the worry and concern he himself felt in his gut. He was just better at hiding it than the younger man. “Then we’ll wrangle up some deathclaws and go from there,” the spy offered with a playful grin. “Heh, wouldn’t it be awesome if Haylen actually makes it back to the cave before we do? I betcha people go bonkers once they hear this, and she takes off right after I get it going.”

Mac snorted at the idea. “Then we’d better rush our a- our _butts_ on back as fast as we can.” He fidgeted, keeping an eye on the nothing all around them, and hoping it stayed that way. “...do you really think it’ll reach her in time?”

“Well, it’s either this or we _do_ try and wrangle those deathclaws,” Deacon said, trying to stay upbeat even as he sweated inside his suit. He couldn’t afford not to get this right. But as long as he did everything correctly, Nora’s pipboy should handle the rest. He frowned to himself as he hooked the pipboy up to the area, waiting as command options came up. “I don’t wanna be out here for too much longer.”

“If we can make the same time back, then it’ll be okay,” Mac said confidently. “I just wish we could find something to make her feel better… Some med-X or something.”

“Grab any of those blossoms on the way back. We might need ‘em,” Deacon said as he fiddled with the pipboy’s screen, searching within the relay’s interface. 

He entered the coordinates of Somerville Place as the new focus for the satellite to transmit. The command asked him to confirm the selection, and then offered the option of creating a new broadcast. He followed the prompts on-screen, and then followed that up with the program she'd given to boost the signal towards their target.

“How’s it going?” Mac asked, gaze never leaving the area surrounding them. He was edgy without the extra comfort of the pipboy’s forewarning, but his eyes were still sharp and there was no exaggeration in his skills as a sniper.

“Almost got it,” Deacon muttered as he worked, heart thundering as he was nearly there.

It wasn’t something he had much direct experience with, but uploading the message Nora had recorded and setting it to play on thirty-second intervals wasn’t too difficult, the interface for the relay apparently made easy for the modern pre-war civilian. Something about local emergency preparedness networks or something that clearly never could have prepared the locals for _this._

At least it would help _them_ , though.

The pipboy alerted him to a new radio signal found. He accessed it before unhooking the device, hearing Nora’s voice after a moment of radio silence. 

“This is… Nora Pendleton… sending out an SOS to Little Book Owl… I need evac in the Glowing Sea. Immediate, emergency evac... Coordinates are zero-zero-one, five-six-echo. Please… Haylen… Immediate evac in the Glowing Sea.”

An automated voice followed. 

[“This message will repeat in fifteen seconds.”]

Deacon let out a sigh of relief, separating the pipboy from the relay and waiting as the signal once again repeated. “Looks like it worked.”

Mac smiled. One break after so much shit was a nice change of pace. “Great, let's get back.”

They made haste back to the cave, avoiding the movements of ferals and radscorpions, altering their route. There was a gas station they hadn’t stopped at before, and Deacon’s gut lurched in hope. He deferred to Mac, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer. “Wanna check for supplies?”

“You read my mind.”

\--

They were lucky to return to the cave without any further incidents. No wasted ammo, no wasted time, and they were one stimpack and a bottle of whiskey richer.

Nora did _not_ look good as they came back upon her, triumph lasting only as long as the walk through the tunnel was. Her skin had an ashen quality to it, her breathing shallow. Her forehead was covered in a cold sweat, and she wouldn’t rouse regardless of how they shook and called. She’d gone downhill fast in their absence.

“Shit, you got that stimpack ready?” Deacon asked as Mac was already removing the stopper from the syringe. Mac nodded as he held Nora’s outstretched arm, gently inserting the needle and watching with paralyzed hope for any change in condition. She’d gotten so much worse so quickly, and their rubbing and holding of her hands was really more for their benefit than hers at this point as time silently ticked on.

But slowly as the minutes passed, she began to look a little better, and the clamminess of her skin dried up just a bit. She was still hot, but it was a vast improvement to how they’d found her. She finally responded to their gentle calling, cracking open tired eyes in delirious confusion. 

Her eyes settled on the spy. “...Deacon…?”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Deacon muttered to himself gratefully, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

“Nora… How you feelin’, sweetheart?” Mac asked earnestly, the fear and concern in his voice evident as she turned concerned, feverish eyes towards him.

“I… I’m so tired...” 

“Deacon…” Mac said the older man’s name with more fear than he’d meant, looking for reassurance of some kind. Support. 

Deacon grabbed the back of the sniper’s neck with a hand that was trembling just slightly, but a smile on his face as he looked down at Nora where they both sat. His thumb stroked Mac’s neck absentmindedly as he tried to keep his tone nonchalant. “Hey there, gorgeous. Have any nice dreams?”

“...where did you go?” Nora asked, blinking the slow, tired blinks of one quite ill. 

Mac felt the little squeeze Deacon gave the back of his neck at that, whether intentional or not, and he turned his face to the spy, concern growing with Nora’s question. She knew where they’d gone. Was she that delirious?

“We put out that SOS, boss,” Deacon reported, a sort of grim acceptance to his tone. “Remember?”

She blinked a few times, trying to think. Yeah, the plan. They had a plan to get out. “...yeah… yeah, to Haylen.”

“That’s right.”

His clipped, chipper tone didn’t go missed by her. Nora’s eyes searched the pair of them, fingers curling into the blanket spread atop her. Her brain was in a fog, and it was hard to think, but her eyes were alert though confused. One thought stood out though, and the expressions on their faces only made her all the more certain of what was happening where her fever was concerned. “I’m… gonna die here, I think.”

“No you’re _not_ ,” Mac immediately denied, leaning over her to cup her cheek defiantly and stare hard into her eyes. “You’re _not_ gonna die, Nora. You hear me?”

“...I’m sorry you came all the way here for this, Mac,” she told him earnestly, leaning her cheek into his hand and closing her eyes tight as if she could will away the fog in her brain. “I can’t… It’s hard to think…”

“That’s okay,” Deacon spoke up over the lump in his throat, finding his voice again as his heart beat frantically in his chest, his stomach full of nerves. She _was_ dying. MacCready knew it, even if he didn’t want to accept it, and Nora knew it, conscious enough still to sense her body getting weaker. It was on both of their faces. The stimpacks helped, yeah, but it was clear there was something else going on; something they couldn’t fix that was getting progressively worse.

Deacon offered a brilliant smile he didn’t feel, his own hand on the opposite side of her face. “We’ll get you help and more stimpacks, okay? It can’t be all that bad if stimpacks keep helping.”

“...I don’t… I don’t know, Deacon,” she said, uncertain and tired, scared and worried. “...You’ll… You’ll take care of each other… right?” The ‘if’ was hanging in the ether between the three, unspoken but plain to them all. Nora knew she wasn’t going to make it out of there, but she needed to know they’d at least have one another. 

She was prioritizing them over herself yet again.

Mac angrily got up, retreating down the tunnel towards the front of the cave where there was some semblance of solitary space. Deacon didn’t stop him. He was having trouble with this, the same as him, and the merc didn’t want to vent his temper on them.

Deacon turned his attention back on Nora as the woman weakly pawed at him for attention. “Dee…. It's a long shot but... if you _can_ get my body back… will you bury me with Nate? In Sanctuary?”

Deacon couldn’t look at her eyes at that, shaking his head and looking absolutely anywhere else as fear prickled him. He was grateful she couldn’t see his eyes behind the shades. “ _Jesus,_ Nora… How can you even ask me something like that...?”

She offered a sad little smile, tired, but accepting. “...If I ask Mac, he'll just get mad again.”

Deacon shook his head again, bending to half-embrace her, a hand gently holding her head. His voice was low, control shaky as he spoke. “This isn't the kind of thing we should even be discussing because we're _not_ letting you die down here, you got that? We’re not.”

“Yeah,” she said, and she blinked as he pulled back to look at her, the expression on his face less than comforting. He knew. She knew he knew. It didn’t make it any easier, but she thought it was a fitting end for herself. “...but if I do--”

Deacon couldn't look at her face. Anywhere but there. He couldn’t handle this situation. This wasn’t something he could find any humor in. “ _Fuck,_ don't ask me to do that, Nora.”

She huffed a little, brain doing its best between the fog as she considered him. She didn’t _want_ to die down there. Of all the places _to_ do it, this was just about the worst. But she was being realistic. It didn’t look good, and there were no hospitals, no ambulances, and no ER she could just waltz into and get checked out. “...sorry, Dee,” she sighed out, hand weakly kneading at his forearm. “Just… make sure I get back to Sanctuary then, please? You don't have to personally do it... That's-- yeah, I wouldn't want someone to ask me that either,” she finished with a strained huff. “It’s… this is fucked.”

Deacon made a noise he wasn’t at all proud of, no discrete way of wiping his eyes under his sunglasses. “Can you _not_ act like you're gonna die here, please? Have some hope, baby. We’ll get you out.”

“...There's not a lot a stimpacks can't cure, Deacon. Something’s--” her voice hitched on the word, losing her composure as she'd tried to distance herself so she didn't get scared, “-something's really _wrong..._ ”

Deacon wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up and into his lap as much for himself as for her. He held her tightly, rubbing her back and making promises he desperately wanted to keep. She was warm against him, but she had the strength to hold him back, at least. Maybe the stimpack _was_ helping a bit. 

Mac came back in from the entrance of the cave, a scowl still on his face and minor pause as he saw Nora shake, but he sat back next to the pair without ceremony and closed the circle around her, one arm about her waist and the other over Deacon’s back. “We're not gonna let anything happen to you, okay? We're gonna get out of here _together_ and get you to a doctor,” Mac promised.

She turned a bit to try and look at him, and Deacon let her go to fall back against Mac’s own chest behind her. The merc gave her a proper hug with both arms around her chest, pressing a kiss to her neck and holding her close, and she offered him a watery smile behind her to mirror Deacon’s own at his next words. 

“And if you think for a _second_ you’re going to leave me alone with just _him_ for the rest of our lives, I will personally haunt _you_ from beyond the other side,” the merc tried to joke, his own eyes swimming though he forced a smile.

Deacon laughed so hard he had tears visibly streaming down from under his shades, and Nora smiled and told Mac not to be mean to Deacon, and the merc pulled the spy closer to the pair to kiss him before entwining their fingers with a scowl. 

The three stayed like that for some time, just sitting together as if the weight of everything _wasn’t_ hanging just above their heads. 

All they could do now was wait.

\--

Deacon was holding Nora like a lifeline as she slumped against his chest, resting, her legs in MacCready’s lap next to him as they leaned against the wall abutting the mattress. 

The spy didn’t look at the merc next to him as he spoke, his voice quiet. Final. “We can’t wait thirty-six hours for a reply, MacCready,” he said matter-of-factly, voice even with grim finality. Mac looked at him, just barely seeing a hint of Deacon’s eyelashes from the side of his sunglasses. The older man just stared ahead into nothingness with something that felt a lot like defeat. “She’ll be dead by then at this rate.”

“We should go now, then,” Mac urged softly, one of the hands he had on Nora’s leg moving to take up Deacon’s.

“We only have the two suits,” the older man stated, not in a hurry to die of rad-poisoning himself, but not about to let either of them be exposed either. Deacon half-smiled. Between a rock and a hard place indeed. Not that he cared too much. He looked sidelong at Mac, nothing else to say on that matter. They’d already had that argument.

“We should give ‘em twelve hours,” Mac amended, entwining his fingers with Deacon’s own, a gauging look at Nora’s sleeping face. She didn’t look good, but still better than when they’d returned. That stimpack had bought her time.

The trek through the glow would be brutal and slow if they had to carry her out. The vertibird was their best chance of all _three_ surviving the trip, but it was still a long-shot. They wanted to give it a chance, though. “It’s late. Everyone is probably just asleep, radios off. By tomorrow the news should have spread to Haylen, or it won’t.”

“That’s a good point,” Deacon said, realizing they were just delaying the inevitable as they sat there helplessly. 

Nora wouldn’t be walking out of there, was the thing. That was clear to both of them. She was too weak already, and they’d be carrying her out regardless of how things played out. They could see if the ex-scribe might take pity on them and come to Nora’s aid; it really would be the least risky option, and Nora could rest. If she wouldn’t come, though, they would still have enough time to make it to Somerville Place and get Nora more stimpacks until a proper doctor could be found. 

It was a shitty plan, Deacon knew, but he’d done better with worse. The one assurance was that stimpacks seemed to be mitigating the effects of whatever was wrong with her, and if they could just reach the settlement, they could buy time with the hypos until they could get her to a doctor. 

\--

Twelve hours had come and gone, and Mac was sitting tapping his foot anxiously on the packed dirt floor of the cave.

No vertibird had been forthcoming. No rescue party. Maybe the transmission had never made it past the glowing sea, or maybe no one _was_ listening. Either way, they couldn’t stay there any longer.

Deacon had done the world’s saddest patch job to Nora’s shredded suit, the thing more duct-tape than rad-resistant weave. It was stiff with her dried blood- a testament to just how brutal an attack she’d survived- and it had been difficult to create proper seals on the cloth. 

Deacon had outright refused to let Mac wear it, and the sniper threatened to shoot him over deciding the matter himself.

So, Deacon insisted they’d draw straws instead, and as _luck_ would have it, Mac had chosen the longer straw. 

“I’m telling you, I’m more resistant than you think,” Deacon promised as he swore up and down that he _didn’t_ rig what had been a fair draw. “Besides, handsome, I’m bigger than you are; I can take way more rads than you,” he teased, making the sniper angrily sputter.

They really didn’t have many options left, though, and definitely no time for further argument.

Hoping the ex-scribe might help them out had indeed been a long shot. The Prydwen had been her home, after all, even if she’d been cast out towards the end. 

Haylen had been exiled for helping Danse, among other things; her removal from the ship had not been voluntary, and her humanity had been seen as a flaw. Yes, Nora might have helped the exiled scribe before she’d blown up the Brotherhood airship, but Danse himself had ignored every message she’d sent after the fact, and there was similar radio-silence from Haylen.

At the very least, Deacon was optimistic that _someone_ would have heard the transmission. Someone just as concerned and loyal to Nora as every other idiot in the commonwealth that was in love with her. That meant there’d be search parties out there scouting for them; people well-supplied and ready to help considering where they were. Ammo and stimpacks and radaway for all. Nora would still get help.

“You just try to stay behind me, and if something _does_ happen, you take her and run, got that?” the merc said with a stony expression which booked no argument. 

“We’ll be okay as long as we check her pipboy,” Deacon said confidently, more concerned about when radiation-sickness would get him and render him useless than some animal taking them by surprise. “Let’s save the sightseeing for another time and just try to get the hell out of here,” Deacon said with more confidence than he felt.

Mac gave him a tight hug, holding for several moments as Deacon hugged him back. He didn’t say anything, instead trying to focus on the solid feel of the other man, the capable body there, and that everything would turn out alright.

Deacon offered a grin he really didn’t feel, and chanced pressing a kiss to the merc’s lips. Mac pressed back, returning it with interest, and then hugged him again as he tried not to think of the worst. This _wasn’t_ going to be the last time the three of them were together, and he was _not_ going to think such things.

“Let’s get her suited up,” Deacon said in clearing his throat, voice a little choked up as he gave the sniper one more squeeze back.

They had Mac’s own untorn radsuit at the ready, gently trying to rouse Nora, but she was too weak to surface consciously, and only made gentle murmurs at their efforts.

“Okay, well… we get her legs first, and then we can sit her up for her arms,” Mac proposed, a hand gently petting her thigh with a concerned frown on his face.

“That’s fine,” Deacon agreed, having expected that they’d be carrying a ragdoll out of there in the first place. He bent to press a kiss to her forehead before they removed the blanket, suit at the ready to slid her into.

“Hey- _hey_ what is that?” Mac’s alarmed voice came, looking at a dark spot under the sheer shirt that covered Nora and pointing it out to Deacon.

“What the hell…” 

Mac lifted the material to just beneath her breasts, the scar tissue from the deathclaw wound shown fresh and shiny sliced against the normal dull of skin. There was at the tip of one of the scars an angry, black lightning strike of pattern radiating and fading outwards in her skin. It wasn’t red like it was infected or anything, but it sure as hell wasn’t normal.

“That was definitely not there before,” Deacon said as he gently caressed the skin, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. She was just clammy and hot, but his eyes studied the location of the thing; just within the new scar tissue she now bore. Expression melted off his face in concerned horror.

“Was she stung by something we missed?” Mac proposed at the size and look of the mark, eyes going to her unconscious face with worry. He brushed some hair behind her ear, his heart picking up considerable speed. “This is not good. I haven’t seen that before… this is not good.”

“Yeah, we need to leave this place like right now,” Deacon agreed with growing concern as his pulse picked up speed, wondering if there was some piece of the Deathclaw nail he’d missed; if there was another piece altogether that her skin had healed around when a stimpack had been administered by either them or her. She hadn’t complained about any particular pain or discomfort, though. But if there was more claw left in her… That was… that was bad. “Shit. Yeah MacCready let’s go.”

It wasn’t easy getting the suit on Nora. She was more or less like limp as their hands were gentle on her, supporting her frame and taking care as they made sure she’d be protected from the elements. They took great care to get her legs into the suit, talking to her as they did it in gentle, soothing tones, working as a team to get the hell out of there without further delay.

She surfaced once or twice, confused and barely able to enunciate a single syllable. “Ma-?”

“Yeah,” the sniper affirmed gently, pausing to kiss her hand. She didn’t even open her eyes. “It’s me, sweetheart.”

“...guh.”

Deacon offered a slight smirk in an attempt of good humor. Either she’d said ‘good’, or she was making unintelligible sounds at this point. “She’s gonna be okay, if she thinks she can be funny at a time like this.”

It made Mac smile despite himself. “Damn I hope so.”

Once suited up properly, both men dawned their own suits and worked out how to best have Deacon carry her. After some ideas and shifting of their meagre packs, they had it figured out.

She was safely held to Deacon’s back after some re-maneuvering of his gear, speed and ease of movement above all else being prioritized, and the older man had a good grip on her with the shredding and re-purposing of the old scratchy blanket into a kind of sling. She’d be held safely, which was good. Once they stepped out of the mouth of that cave, Deacon was going to start soaking up rads like an old kitchen sponge, and they couldn’t waste any time to reposition her she slipped. Every single step in this hellhole had to count. It would take a while to get a lethal dose of radiation, but they had no idea how long it would take to _sneak_ out. They couldn’t risk a fight with Nora unconscious.

“I _really_ don’t like this, Deacon,” Mac said once again, holding Deacon’s hand, a frown inside his helmet. “Maybe… I could get out of here on my own, and come back with supplies… An extra suit and some stims.”

“The time for that is over,” Deacon said, though he appreciated the concern over his person. “She can’t stay here any longer. Even if you could find stimpacks, MacCready.”

Mac looked at the dismal state of Nora’s patched suit Deacon wore. It made something inside of the merc scared on a deep, dark scale. Like horror stories he’d heard in the Capital Wasteland as a child. Bad radiation sickness _did things_ to people. He didn’t want that to happen to Deacon. “You’re going to get bad rad-poisoning, Deacon. _Really_ bad.”

“Oh I’ll handle a little rad-sickness. I wanna see if the fun-tinglies Hancock talked about feel as good as he says,” he said with a brilliant grin for show. “Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, if we can get our girl out.”

“I don’t want you to _die_ , Deacon.”

“You know, you’re really something of a romantic, MacCready,” Deacon said even as the realization of what they were about to attempt began to sink in on him, and old fear threatened to creep up and drown him. He gave an optimistic smirk instead, as if getting a rise out of the other man was more important. “Gives a guy a lot of ideas, being sweet on him like that…”

“And how are you gonna do any of them if you’re dead, jackass?” Mac asked, squeezing his hand again but bringing it to rest flat on his chest above his beating heart. The look he gave the other man said it all. This was a fucked up situation. He sighed heavily. “Are you ready?”

“If you are,” Deacon said simply with a slow look at Nora’s pipboy strapped to his arm. “Looks all clear.”

“Okay, then let’s do this,” Mac said solemnly, leading the way out of the cave for the general direction of Somerville and safety.

The pipboy was ticking, informing Deacon he was taking significant rads already as they headed down the gentle incline. The duct-tape wrapped suit was a poor idea indeed for protection, but Deacon didn’t care as he knew Nora was safe in his arms. The rad-X would keep him within survivable parameters until he’d need another, and by then they should be almost out.

Both men froze at the telltale sign of thunder, things going from bad to worse, and they hadn’t even started out proper yet.

“A goddamn radstorm. Of course it would be a radstorm. We can’t get a freakin’ break!” Mac cursed, looking back at Deacon and reaching for him to try and urge him on.

The thunder got closer, and much more rhythmic until Deacon gave Mac a tug, stopping him. “That’s not thunder,” he said, hope climbing up his belly and into his throat as the churning of vertibird engines labored in the poisonous skies.

It appeared through the fog as a small dot that grew considerably larger as they got closer. It was one of the Brotherhood’s ‘lost’ vertibirds. One that Nora had helped hide away with the ex-scribe.

It was about time they got a break. 

The bird landed in the small valley outside the cave, orange plasma mists of sour radiation dispelling as the rotors powered low on standby.

Deacon and Mac hurriedly made their way over, seeing Haylen in the cockpit glass looking cautiously curious as she clearly was not expecting _three_ total people, and their identities were obscured anyways. 

The doors were thrown open to the harsh irradiated air, and it shocked them to see Danse behind a wall-mounted machine gun, aimed their way as he, too, clearly had not expected anyone other than Nora. 

“Who is that?” he called out authoritatively, gun and head cocked to try and see through their helmets better than visibility would’ve allowed.

“Deacon and MacCready,” Deacon called out, the pair of them staying still until Danse had removed the gun trained on their persons and motioned them aboard. 

The two men got Nora off Deacon’s back carefully, Mac hopping up into the craft to accept Nora from Deacon into the body of the vertibird. Danse kept his eyes on the surrounding hills nearby for any threats. Tactically, it was a poor choice for landing pad, but then beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Hurry up! We’re getting some attention!” Haylen urged, seeing a white deathclaw in the distance that was drawn by the noise, and was coming over to investigate.

Mac was securing Nora’s limp body inside the vertibird as Deacon quickly hopped in after her. Danse got on the machine gun as he told Haylen to take off, and the vertibird rose just as the deathclaw crested the hill.

Danse let the wall-mounted gun sing through deathclaw flesh as the creature tried to dodge the onslaught, but kept on coming. He had it crippled by the time they were in the air, and it was dead as Haylen maneuvered away. 

Swinging the mounting aside and securing the gun into the wall of the craft, Danse slammed the door against the poisonous atmosphere and turned his attention back on their survivors. Mac and Deacon had Nora secured between them, removing their helmets and hers to the quickly-circulated purified air of the cabin. They checked her pulse and moved hair away from her face, but she was just out-cold like before. 

The synth looked at the pair of men a bit dumbstruck, like he was not sure what to say. And neither spoke to Danse at first, either, murmuring to one another but not yet acknowledging him as they got themselves situated as the vertibird climbed higher.

Things had been... difficult between them after Nora had blown up the Prydwen. Yeah, she’d helped Haylen deliver a baby she wasn’t supposed to have according to Brotherhood ‘purity’ bylaws, and the pair of them might’ve saved Danse’s synthetic neck by directly threatening the elder, but both ex-Brotherhood soldiers seemed to have forgotten her help once the Prydwen was destroyed. This was the first contact they’d had in _months._

The birth of Haylen’s child hadn’t been an easy one, but it would have been infinitely better if she’d had access to the resources the Brotherhood kept to themselves. Six-months pregnant with a wastelander’s baby and defending her commanding officer were serious enough sins to expel her, according to Maxson. Snide comments from the elder _after_ the difficult birth was what ultimately lead Nora to blow up the ship. 

Deacon had been present for that little chat between them-- about how Haylen’s poor personal choices had lead her to be where she was, and that was to be expected when mixing with civilians and synths. The disregard for one of their own had made the spy sick. If not for Nora’s intervention down on the ground, both the ex-scribe and her baby wouldn’t have survived the birth.

Nora blew up the Prydwen only three months after delivering the scribe’s baby, she and the infant hidden away in one of Nora’s settlements along with Danse to escape the wrath of any survivors looking to take out what they viewed as traitors. That Nora chose to blow up the airship was both a tactical and practical solution to worries over assassins for the new mother and Danse’s second lease on life, and eliminated another faction trying to force their will over the commonwealth.

But it had been six months since the Brotherhood’s major advantage against the commonwealth had been destroyed, and Nora never got so much as a whisper from Danse into inquiries about themselves, or how the baby was doing, or aid for the battle against the Institute. Everything they heard was secondhand. The abandonment had stung her at the time, but then she didn’t have time to waste being melancholy when she’d been planning a war against the commonwealth’s boogeyman.

It was hardly a shocker that Nora didn’t think anyone cared about her.

They were here now though, at least. And it was something. Once they got her to a doctor, everything would be better.

“What happened to her?” Danse broached the silence inside the cabin first, looking at Nora’s unconscious form and the way the other two fussed over her with visible agitation.

“Deathclaws tore her to shit. We patched her up, but this goddamn fever…” Deacon informed, attention focused on Nora as he held her hand in his own. “She’s got black lines on her chest near the healed wound, too.”

“Stimpacks seem to help,” Mac spoke up gruffly, turning his face to look at the ex-paladin. “Got any?”

He was given the two on board, and Mac made use of both of them in quicker succession than perhaps wise, but stimpack-sickness was hardly a concern at the moment.

“Oh god… She… she looks _awful_ …” Haylen spoke up as she finally got them out of the clouds and immediate danger, turning back aghast as she got a proper look at Nora’s face. 

“I think something’s stuck in there…” Deacon replied as he held Nora’s hand. “We need to get her to Curie in Sanctuary. I pulled out a piece of claw that got lodged inside her skin, but I could’ve missed some.”

Mac looked horrified. “You think there’s _more?_ ”

“Well what else _could_ it be?” Deacon said with a tired huff, still reeling from the fact they were on a goddamn vertibird being airlifted out of the glowing sea like something out of a comic book. It had been a long time since anything went right. The relief was exhausting and short-lived at best.

“What color are her eyes?” Haylen interrupted, turning periodically back to look at her. “What other symptoms?”

“High-fever, clammy skin… She said she had the chills and no appetite when she was still conscious.” Mac placed thumb and forefinger about one of Nora’s eyes, opening her lids to look with deep concern as she didn’t so much as twitch. He blinked as his heart skipped a beat in fear at what was clearly jaundice. He wondered if she’d been like this when they’d returned from the satellite array. “The whites are yellowed.”

“Her organs are shutting down,” the ex-scribe said with grim concern. “That’s a major sign of infection, and if there’s something still in there, it’s gonna need to be cut out. She needs a heavy dose of antibiotics, and soon.”

Mac was thinking this was going from bad to much much worse far too fast. They didn’t have anything like that in Sanctuary. “And where the hell do we find _that?”_

“The Prydwen had them in the med bay,” Danse informed stoically, looking pointedly at the merc as if he thought he was being subtle. There was hardly any love lost between the two, but what a thing to say after six-months of radio-silence.

Mac wanted to hit him for the almost-accusatory way he made it sound. “Are you saying she _deserves_ this, _tincan?_ ”

“ _Easy_ ,” Deacon said, a hand on the merc’s shoulder squeezing gently. Hardly the time and hardly the place for playing the blame game, but if Danse didn’t watch his mouth, Deacon might take a swing at him himself.

“Of course I'm not,” Danse replied to MacCready with a genuine frown, recognizing what he’d said to have bee a cheap-shot at the merc indeed. “Knight Pendleton did more for me than any of my brothers or sisters. I owe my life to her.”

“And _that’s_ why you haven’t spoken a damn word to her in _months_ ,” Mac accused, controlling his urge to jump the other man, but not his mouth.

The merc was still practically growling in his throat at the bigger man while Deacon kneaded at Mac’s shoulder with his hand. He had a good point. Deacon chose not to look at Danse, speaking to their pilot instead. “Well where else can we find a heavy dose of antibiotics?”

“Vaults usually have them, according to most records I've found and according to local sources. The most likely place would be vault 81,” Haylen informed. “But it’s locked down to outsiders. They refused to make contact with us when we were surveying the area.”

“81? Wait, they know us there,” Mac immediately spoke up, scowl and focus off Danse in favor of looking at Deacon with hope. 

“You think they’ll help?” Deacon asked. He knew of the vault, and he also knew their xenophobia kept them fairly well isolated from the rest of the commonwealth. If anyone might have pre-war technology and medicines, it would be them. He’d certainly never been inside there (not for a lack of trying), but if they had something that would help Nora, then it was worth a shot.

“They will, whether they want to or not,” Mac affirmed resolutely. He jerked the pipboy on Deacon’s wrist towards him, taking half the man with him as he fired up the map inside. “Take us there. Northeast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The SOS coordinates are the item ref numbers for virgil's cave in game hahah! idk how to military-coordinates shit but this works for fanfiction xD sorry to anyone with normal working knowledge of it, idgaf that much ahha! Yeah the relay tower is actually pretty damn far back up there on map as well... but just pretend its a DIFFERENT one or something LOLOL yay fiction! xD
> 
> Please please please leave a comment if you're enjoying things? :D Next update will probably be in about 2 weeks or so :) I'm trying to also update other fandom fic I haven't updated in over a month and keeping to a schedule at my age is difficult so please bear with me xD What the shit do you think I have pulled up my sleeve for what's gonna happen next? >_>
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)  
> ( Just an FYI: you'll need to be logged in to tumblr for my blog to show up since it's marked explicit :D)
> 
> Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! ao3 FAQ: [Can I post comments anonymously, or if I don't have an Archive account? ](https://archiveofourown.org/faq/comments-and-kudos?language_id=en#anoncomment)


End file.
